


Promises Kept, Promises Broken

by irrationalgame



Series: Promises Kept, Promises Broken [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Angst, Dreams, Fluff, Friendship, Love, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2014-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the beating at Thirsk fair, Jimmy is struggling to understand his guilt and is plagued by dreams of Mr Barrow's death. In the process Thomas keeps every promise he makes to Jimmy, whilst Jimmy somehow manages to break every promise he makes to himself.</p><p>Set after the Season 3 CS.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Jimmy woke with a start, his pyjamas stuck uncomfortably to his back with sweat, his cheeks wet with tears he didn't remember shedding. It had been two weeks since 'The Beating' - two weeks since the dreams had started.

 _Not dreams,_ Jimmy thought, _but rather one very specific dream._

It always began in the same way; he was walking under that bridge, a little drunk but happy, when he was accosted by two large and unkempt men. They meant to rob him, and worse. But in the dream, as in reality, Jimmy was rescued by Mr Barrow. He would just appear at exactly the right moment, stepping in and telling Jimmy to run. But that's where the similarities between the dream and reality ended. That's when things got really bad.

Instead of running to get help, like he had in reality, in the dream ( _nightmare,_ Jimmy thought) he just watched. He couldn't move, or shout, or anything. All he could do was watch as the thugs doled out a beating that was meant for him, as Mr Barrow stared at him, those impossibly blue eyes pleading for him to do _something._

Sometimes Jimmy would wake up during the beating, pale and stricken, his hands balled up in the sheets. 

Those were the good nights.

On the bad nights the dream would continue; the men would flee, leaving Mr Barrow in a growing pool of his own blood. Only then would Jimmy's feet become unstuck and he would collapse at Mr Barrow's side, grasping his face, shaking him, begging him to just wake up. But Mr Barrow never woke up. He was always cold, dead, gone; his blue eyes clouded and unseeing, his skin grey.

And Jimmy always awoke with silent tears on his cheeks and his heart hammering against his ribs.

 _It's just guilt,_ Jimmy told himself, _because I let him get hurt. Not that I asked him to get involved, or follow me around like a bleedin' love struck puppy._ Jimmy dragged himself out of bed, crossing the cold floorboards to the basin of water on his nightstand. He stared at his shadowed reflection in the dark mirror, appraising his handsome cheekbones and his ruffled hair. _Or I'm just spooked by the death of Mr Crawley,_ Jimmy reasoned. In Jimmy's experience people were liable to drop dead at the most unexpected and life shattering moments, just as his own father and mother had, and Mr Crawley's death had unsettled Jimmy more than he would ever openly admit. It had cast him into the same malaise that affected the rest of the household, upstairs and down.

"That's why it pays not to bother with folk," Jimmy said aloud to his reflection, "then you can't be too upset when they die." Jimmy tried to imagine how he would feel if Daisy, or Ivy or even Alfred were to suddenly pass away. He found it bothered him only a little, which was still more than he'd like. That was the thing about being in service; you spent so much time with other people it was almost impossible to not be dragged into their petty lives. Jimmy had never been one for forming attachments, or for anything more than idly socialising - he'd never had anyone he considered a friend, much less a romantic relationship. _I'm alone because I choose to be,_ he thought, _except I'm not really alone any more, am I?_

Jimmy's mind turned to Mr Barrow; they had been getting along well enough since 'The Beating' and Jimmy found he continued to visit Mr Barrow less out of obligation and more because he actually enjoyed his company, now he'd given it a chance. Mr Barrow was funny, in a sarcastic and cutting way, and he made for intelligent conversation. _Not like I've got anyone else remotely interesting to talk to,_ Jimmy surmised, washing his face in the basin, the water like ice against his clammy skin. _Talkin' to Alfred is about as exciting as measuring place settings,_ Jimmy smirked at his own snideness, _Mr Barrow would have appreciated that._ Frowning at how his thoughts always seemed to circle back around to the under-butler, Jimmy tried to imagine how he would feel if Mr Barrow were to suddenly pass and found there was no comfortable answer; the tightness in his throat, heaviness in his chest and swirling nausea in his stomach surprised Jimmy. _I'm goin' soft,_ he thought, _I'll have to put a stop to it._

Jimmy returned to his cot, irritated and acutely aware that it would soon be time to get up and that it was rather unlikely he'd manage to get back to sleep. Every time he closed his eyes all he saw was Mr Barrow's face; battered and bloodied, his eyes distant and cold. Jimmy sighed, half-tempted to go and check on Mr Barrow. _Only so I can get back to sleep,_ he pouted, _not because I'm actually worried._ He thought better of it - lurking around Mr Barrow's room in the night was a sure-fire way to get accused of being up to something 'unnatural'. And Alfred kept throwing Jimmy accusatory looks already, on account of Jimmy and Mr Barrow being so pally of late.

"I don't know how you can even stand being in the house with 'im," Alfred had sneered, "let alone being his best mate all of a sudden. Maybe you weren't as upset as you made out then?"

Jimmy had, of course, responded with anger and outrage at the insinuation. _Not that I care one hoot about that great oaf Alfred,_ jimmy frowned, _but I just don't want folk thinkin' I'm like Mr Barrow. Because I'm not. I'm not._ Even as he thought it, Jimmy's stomach knotted with guilt and with something else, something he couldn't even begin to think about. 

~

Regardless of his concerns, Jimmy found he couldn't resist calling in on Mr Barrow before breakfast, just to make sure he was feeling alright. _And not about to drop dead,_ Jimmy grimaced. He knocked quietly, before softly pushing Mr Barrow's door open and sidling into the room. Jimmy had been in Mr Barrow's room several times over the last two weeks, but he was still always surprised by how much the room was a reflection of the man who dwelt within. On the surface it was calm, practical and tidy to a fault, with little in the way of knick-knacks or personal possessions to give away anything about Mr Barrow. But if one delved into the closet or drawers, they would find an array of letters, books, photographs and trinkets. Mr Barrow's room, just like the man himself, had a surprising depth, bordering on sentimentality.

The sun was barely up and Mr Barrow had the curtains drawn, but Jimmy could make out the outline of the under-butler still prone in his bed. He was so still that in the semi-darkness Jimmy couldn't tell if he was awake.

"Mr Barrow?" Jimmy hissed, tiptoeing over to the cot. Mr Barrow didn't reply and for a moment panic squeezed Jimmy's throat; he tried to make out if Mr Barrow was breathing, but if he was it was so softly that the light rise and fall of his chest was imperceptible in the dim bedroom. Without thinking, Jimmy lay his head on Mr Barrow's chest, and much to his relief he was greeted with the steady thumping of Mr Barrow's heart. Jimmy smiled, feeling Mr Barrow's strong heartbeat reverberate through his head. After a few moments the heartbeat quickened and Jimmy chanced a look up to Mr Barrow's face - he was now very much awake and staring at Jimmy with an expression somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

"Jimmy?" Mr Barrow whispered, his eyebrows knotting together into a frown, "What're you doing?"

"I was just checking on you," Jimmy smiled, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to creep into someone's room and lay your head on their chest while they were sleeping. _It's a legitimate medical technique!_ Jimmy thought. A little early morning sunlight was now invading Mr Barrow's room - in the half-light his cheekbones looked more pronounced, his cheeks hollowed, his hair as black as a starless sky. His face was still marred with a dozen cuts and grazes, each one a dark line on his pale skin, the contrast making his injuries look all the more shocking. Jimmy reached out to touch a half-healed cut at the corner of Mr Barrow's mouth, his own heart now skipping impossibly quickly, before stopping just short of his red lips. A flush rose In Jimmy's cheeks and he became acutely aware that he still had his face pressed against Mr Barrow's chest.

"...Well," Mr Barrow started, his face now sporting the usual mask of indifference it always wore, "as you can see, I'm fine. So..." He motioned at Jimmy to get up. _He must think I've gone completely insane,_ Jimmy realised, standing bolt upright and taking a large step away from the bed.

"Yes, of course," Jimmy stared at the wall behind Mr Barrow, avoiding anything nearing on eye contact. Mr Barrow struggled to shuffle into a sitting position, grimacing with the pain of a man with broken ribs and a bruised body. Without thinking Jimmy stepped in, hooking his arm under Mr Barrow's armpit and hoisting him up. 

"Erm, thank you James," Mr Barrow said with a slight edge, "I can manage." Then, more softly, "Are you quite alright?"

"Of course!" Jimmy exclaimed with rather too much emphasis, "It's you I was worried about, I mean not _worried_ , but just concerned, you know medically, just with what happened and with you still being laid up and all and after Mr Crawley went and died so suddenly with no warning or anything and I thought you might need a doctor? Yes maybe we should get Doctor Clarkson to look at you again to be sure because what would we do without the under-butler at Downton? Yes, we really should be _sure_ that you're really alright because Thomas, you just _cannot die_." 

"Jimmy," Thomas reached out at placed a comforting hand on his arm, "I'm fine. I'm definitely not going to drop dead anytime soon."

"Do you promise?" Jimmy said, his ever-emotive face drawn into a worried frown.

"I promise," Thomas smiled; a real, earnest smile, the kind that Jimmy was sure was reserved only for him. _He never smiles at anyone else, not properly,_ Jimmy thought, _but when he smiles at me it reaches his eyes and god, it's beautiful._

"Good," Jimmy nodded, regaining his composure a little, "I'm glad that's settled Mr Barrow. I better be off or I'll be late for breakfast. I'll bring you a tray." Jimmy turned to leave and had his hand on the doorknob before Thomas spoke.

"You don't have to feel guilty Jimmy," Thomas said in a low voice, "and you don't owe me anything. I asked if we could be friends and we are; you don't have to keep visiting me if you don't want to."

"Mr Barrow," Jimmy sighed, opening the bedroom door, "you're wrong. I owe you so very much. I'll be up with your tray soon."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy starts to unravel from lack of sleep, but Thomas (and Mrs Patmore) pick up the pieces.

When Thomas returned to work a few days later, Jimmy worried that things would be awkward. Or different. _And I just want things to be okay with us. Not us. There's no 'us'. Him._ Jimmy shook his head; it seemed his own thoughts were betraying him these days. Thankfully Mr Barrow hadn't mentioned the debacle that had occurred in his bedroom, not even to tease Jimmy about it. If anything, Mr Barrow had been more amiable than ever, and they has spent the next few evenings playing cards in Mr Barrow's room. But Mr Barrow still held an air of discomfort when they were alone together and was ardent in maintaining somewhat of a distance between himself and Jimmy, making sure not to touch him and recoiling as if he had been burned if ever their fingers happened to brush. Jimmy wished Mr barrow wouldn't be quite so standoffish; they were friends now and all that business was behind them. He wanted to broach the subject but found he could never quite manage it.

Despite their apparent friendship, Jimmy's unconscious was still being plagued by the unpleasant dreams, stealing away both his sleep and his peace of mind. The dark circles under his heavy-lidded eyes were rather telling; Jimmy was becoming increasingly exhausted and had struggled to drag himself out of bed this morning. _I don't know what is wrong with me,_ Jimmy thought with a yawn, making his way to the servants hall for breakfast, _I've no reason to feel so badly. I just need to act as if everything is fine. Because it really is fine. He's fine. I'm fine. It's fine._ To prove his point, Jimmy made sure to sit right beside Mr Barrow at the table, his elbow knocking softly against the under-butler's sturdy arm as he poured himself a cup of tea. He'd barely had time to lift the china to his lips when Mr Carson entered the servants hall and everyone stood to attention, as was the ( _outdated,_ Jimmy snarked) custom. Mr Barrow seemed to have a hard time getting out of his chair, so Jimmy pulled him up by his elbow and placed a steadying hand in the middle of Mr Barrow's back. Mr Barrow stiffened at Jimmy's concerned touch, but didn't say anything and gave no indication that he objected to Jimmy's help.

"Ah, Mr Barrow," Carson boomed, a hint of insincerity in his voice, "it's good to have you back with us."

"It's good to be back, Mr Carson," Mr Barrow replied, his smile equally as insincere as Carson's comment.

"Are you sure you're well enough to be working yet?" Jimmy asked, guiding Mr Barrow back into his chair. 

Mr Barrow shot him a questioning look."It's only light duties," he replied, "as apparently I'm still not fit to pour wine at dinner."

"And I should think not," Carson added, "in the state you are, looking like you have been in a pub brawl."

Mr Barrow just smiled and reached for the plate of toast, indicating the conversation was over. Jimmy opened his mouth to say something acerbic in Mr Barrow's defence, but thought better of it, instead settling for sipping his tea haughtily. _I'm already in Carson's bad books,_ he thought glumly, _and I always will be if I don't learn to control my tongue._

And it was true of course, Mr Barrow did look like he'd been in a boxing match. Jimmy pretended to study the pattern on his teacup as he peered at Mr Barrow from the corner of his eye, assessing the extent to which his injuries had improved. The cuts and grazes had healed over, leaving little silver slivers of skin etched into yellowing bruises. Jimmy let his eyes wander to Mr Barrow's elegant hands as they deftly spread a thick layer of butter onto a slice of toast; _his hands are so graceful,_ Jimmy appraised, _war wound or no._ Jimmy was entranced - he watched intently as Mr Barrow took a large bite out of the freshly buttered toast and Jimmy's mouth dropped into a delighted 'o' as Mr Barrow's quick, pink tongue flicked out to lick a smear of melted butter from his top lip. _I bet that tongue can do all sorts of wicked things,_ Jimmy gasped, in disbelief at his own thoughts and at how his stomach suddenly felt low and heavy. His leapt to his feet, his chair screeching on the tiles and crashing noisily to the floor behind him. The servants hall fell silent; knives clattered onto plates, spoons were dropped into bowls, teacups paused before parted lips. All eyes were on Jimmy, including Mr Barrow's inquisitive grey ones.

"James, whatever is the matter?" Mrs Hughes asked, her head tilted to one side.

Jimmy couldn't conjure a plausible lie, not with everyone staring. Not when all he could think about was Mr Barrow's tongue and how if he kissed him now he would taste like warm butter. So Jimmy did the only thing he could think of - he turned on his heel and ran, darting quickly down the corridor and finding solace in the boot room. He closed the heavy door behind him, resting his burning forehead against the cool wood. The door smelled faintly of paint, though it hadn't been varnished for months. Jimmy pressed his eyes tightly shut and tried to focus on the smell, to rid his mind of any ill thoughts. _I am going quite mad,_ he sighed, crossing the small room and wearily pulling himself on to the bench, mindless of the danger of staining his livery with shoe polish. Jimmy sat, his head in his hands, for five long minutes, before the sound of footsteps in the corridor roused him from his thoughts. The footsteps stopped outside the boot room; _please don't let it be Carson. Or for gods sake not Alfred,_ Jimmy brooded. The door swung open and it was not Mr Carson or Alfred who stood in the doorway, but Mr Barrow.

"Jimmy?" Mr Barrow said, closing the door behind him, "Whatever is the matter?"

Jimmy just shook his head, wringing his hands in his lap.

"Something is bothering you Jimmy," Mr Barrow leant on the bench beside Jimmy, "and I just want you to know you can tell me. If you've gotten yourself into trouble or something, I can help you. Whatever it is, you can tell me." There was a softness in Mr Barrow's voice and a kindness in his eyes that overwhelmed any residual awkwardness between the two men.

"I'm not in trouble," Jimmy said quietly, "I just...that's the thing Mr Barrow, I don't know what is wrong with me." _Liar,_ a voice accused from somewhere deep within Jimmy's mind. _You're in trouble and you know why._

Mr Barrow made to put a comforting hand on Jimmy's arm, but stopped short. "Well, if you figure it out," he said, "you know where I am."

"Can I ask you something personal Mr Barrow?" Jimmy inquired, clasping his hands together so tightly his knuckles whitened.

"I don't see why not," Mr Barrow nodded, his face now infuriatingly devoid of emotion. _You're so good at pretending, at putting on a mask, aren't you?_ Jimmy mused. And it was true, Mr Barrow was almost impossible to read, so guarded was his every word and expression. _Although it slips sometimes when you look at me, and I see just a little of what dwells within._

"How did you know?" Jimmy began, not sure why he was asking such a personal and impertinent question, "That you were...the sort of man you are?"

Mr Barrow was silent and for a moment Jimmy thought he'd crossed an unspoken line.

"I was still a lad really, about thirteen or fourteen," Mr Barrow replied, his eyes fixed of the rack full of boots lining the opposite wall, "when I realised. There were this girl who lived down the road from me, 'bout my age, pretty little thing, and I took to playing with her and her older brother. We was always getting into some mischief and people teased that she had a crush on me and I on her; I imagined that was why I was always so eager to be out with them. Until one day she pulled me behind this big tree on the common and kissed me, right chaste like, we were just kids still, it were nothing untoward. But then, pressed up against that tree with her lips against mine, all I could think about was her brother." Mr Barrow shook his head, "It wasn't like I instantly knew what were up, I had no idea about those sorts of things. But looking back, that's when I realised I was different to everyone else."

"What happened? With the boy I mean," Jimmy said, rather moved that Mr Barrow had confided such an intimate detail of his life.

"I told him I loved him," Mr Barrow laughed, "and we lived happily ever after."

"Really?" Jimmy gaped.

"Of course not," Mr Barrow smirked, "and you have the nerve to call Alfred an idiot." 

"Alright, no need to rub it in," Jimmy grinned, then said more seriously: "Did you ever tell your parents?"

"Aye," Mr Barrow nodded, "when I was older, and I went into service shortly after. So I think even you can guess how well that went. But it don't bother me anymore; I am what I am and there's no peace to be had by living a lie or being ashamed of it."

"I admire you," Jimmy murmured, "for your courage. I'm a coward really, and I always have been."

"You're young yet Jimmy," Mr Barrow gripped Jimmy's shoulder for barely a second and then released it, still wary of physical contact. "You'll figure things out. But you'll be out of a job if you don't get back to work sharpish, Carson'll throw a fit if he sees us slacking off in here."

"Right you are Mr Barrow," Jimmy said, making to leave, "and thank you."

~

Jimmy had thought he might be bombarded with questions from the rest of the staff regarding his peculiar behaviour at the breakfast table, but besides a few concerned looks, no one had mentioned it. Yet the dreams continued and Jimmy was increasingly aware of the way his pulse quickened when he shared a snide comment or a wry smile with Mr Barrow. _I'm just glad we are friends,_ Jimmy reflected, _and now I know him better I feel regret at the way I've treated him in the past. It's nothing more that that._

Apart from Jimmy's internal struggles and the odd, mourning visitor to the house, the next fortnight passed without incident and with little else to report; Jimmy and Mr Barrow continued to play cards in the evenings, only now they conducted their games in the servants hall as they both benefitted from the nightly opportunity to thrash Alfred and relieve him of a portion of his wages. Jimmy longed to play the piano, but with the house still deeply swathed in mourning, it was forbidden to even smile too happily, let alone do anything so jovial as rattle out a tune on the piano. Normally Jimmy would be irritated by such tedium, but he understood the situation and actually felt quite badly for the whole family, Lady Mary in particular. Of course, Mr Carson was in a terribly bad mood most of the time, almost as if he was Lady Mary's own father and felt her pain as sharply as Lord Grantham surely did. Thus, Carson was liable to snap at anyone who irked him, and unfortunately for Jimmy he seemed to regularly be on the receiving end of Carson's ire. After lunch Mr Carson had caught Jimmy with his feet up on the servants hall table and had proceeded to give him a thorough dressing down before the whole downstairs staff, kitchen maids and hall boys included. The telling off, lack of sleep and a deep-seated feeling of inner turmoil meant that by dinner time Jimmy had about reached his limit.

"Isn't the savoury ready yet? Jimmy snapped, waiting in the kitchen with an outstretched tray. _It's me that'll get in trouble if it's late and them upstairs are kept waiting,_ he grumbled, _not the dozy kitchen staff._

"It'll be two minutes," Daisy replied hotly, "and you moaning won't make it cook any faster."

"You've been in an awful grump recently," Ivy interjected, "what's up with you?"

"I have not," Jimmy frowned, "I'm just sick of people getting on at me, that's all."

"Well taking it out on us isn't going to make anything better, is it?" Ivy pulled a face that made Jimmy want to hit her with the tray. 

Daisy, with a face like thunder, deposited the savoury course onto Alfred's tray first, and then Jimmy's - this minor slight made Jimmy so unreasonably irritated that he had barely taken three steps before he dropped the whole tray down his livery and all over the kitchen floor. Jimmy felt the pinpricks of angry, tired tears behind his eyes. _James Kent, promise me that you absolutely will not cry,_ he chastised, but it was no use - tears spilled down Jimmy's cheeks and he turned away abruptly so Daisy and Ivy wouldn't see. 

"Good job I made spare!" Daisy said, just as Mrs Patmore bustled in to investigate the commotion. She took one look at the scene of disaster, and at Jimmy's tear stained face, and took command.

"Daisy, fetch Mr Barrow. Jimmy is feeling unwell, I'm sure he won't mind taking his place for a moment." Mr Patmore ordered. "And Ivy, stop gawping and clear up this mess. Jimmy, you come with me. You need a sit down and a good clean up." And with that she dragged Jimmy out of the kitchen and into Mrs Hughes sitting room. "Sit," she instructed, but there was no anger in her voice. Jimmy acquiesced, quietly grateful that Mrs Patmore had rescued him from the embarrassment of having everyone see him crying.

"Thank you," he snivelled, trying to regain his composure.

"Now what's all this about?" Mrs Patmore asked, putting a pudgy, comforting arm around Jimmy shaking shoulders. She smelled like lavender that had been fried and left in a hot oven for days. "It's not like you to cry over spilled milk. You've been out of sorts for a while now, and you look tired."

"I am tired," Jimmy sighed, "I'm exhausted. I'm not sleeping and it's making everything else so much more tedious."

"Not sleeping eh?" Mrs Patmore smiled softly, "Something on your mind, keeping you awake? It helps to talk about it you know."

"If I tell you something Mrs Patmore, will you keep it to yourself?"

"I will," Mrs Patmore replied, "as long as you haven't killed anyone, it'll be our secret."

"You know how Mr Barrow got into a fight at Thirsk fair?" Jimmy studied his soiled livery, wondering what was in that savoury course to make such a big, red stain.

"I remember it well," she nodded, "though how and why Mr Barrow got into a fight is beyond me."

"It was because of me," Jimmy felt tears once again threatening to fall from his already puffy eyes, "that beating was meant for me, but he stepped in and saved me."

"Well," Mrs Patmore declared, "that is something. I've never known Mr Barrow to do a single selfless thing in the last ten years. But I suppose that makes his actions all the more...meaningful."

"It was a brave, kind thing he did," Jimmy sniffed, "and I feel guilty for it, after how I treated him. If I hadn't been drunk and stupid at the fair, it wouldn't have happened."

"But it has happened, and it's no good wishing it were otherwise," Mr Patmore said. "No real harm came to Mr Barrow; if anything it's mended the rift between you. You can't change how you treated him in the past, but you can treat him better in the future. He seems to care about you, for his sins. And that's definitely better than having him against you."

Jimmy smiled, marvelling at the insight and wisdom of Downton's cook. "Thank you Mrs Patmore," he smiled, wiping his eyes on the back of his sleeve, "I feel better."

"Good," she replied, "now get yourself sorted and upstairs before Mr Carson skins you alive!"

~

Later that evening Mr Carson certainly made his displeasure at Jimmy's conduct known, but Mrs Patmore rallied to his defence.

"The boy can't help it if he's feeling ill," she testified, "I think he did well to finish serving and not go straight off to bed."

"I suppose so," Carson conceded, "make sure you go to bed early tonight James. I don't want a repeat performance tomorrow." James felt his cheeks flush red and he was glad the servants hall was mostly empty.

"I will Mr Carson," _you miserable old dictator,_ Jimmy thought. _After I find Mr Barrow and thank him for his help today._

Mr Barrow was, of course, outside in the courtyard smoking. Jimmy wondered why Thomas would go outside to smoke alone when it was perfectly acceptable to smoke in the servants hall; Miss O'Brien did it. _Maybe he likes the quiet,_ he pondered.

"Mind if I join you?" Jimmy grinned, falling in beside Mr Barrow. Mr Barrow nodded as an answer, blowing a plume of smoke towards the darkening evening sky. Autumn was most definitely setting in and a chill breeze was blowing a few scattered, browning leaves around the courtyard. Jimmy shivered, instinctively moving in closer beside Mr Barrow to shelter from the wind. Mr Barrow took a deliberate step away from the footman.

"You don't have to do that," Jimmy sighed, frustrated. "I'm not afraid you're going to molest me or anything." Mr Barrow flicked his cigarette across the yard and his mask of indifference cracked for a second, revealing anger and pain behind his pale eyes. Jimmy stomach bottomed out; he hadn't meant it like that. "I didn't mean it to come out like that," Jimmy stuttered, "not hurtful like."

"Do I look bothered James?" Mr Barrow countered, the false serenity back on his sharp, handsome face. Jimmy grimaced at the use of his 'proper' name - Mr Barrow reserved that for when he was truly upset.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy said, gripping Mr Barrow's elbow. "I came out to thank you for serving for me at dinner, not to insult you." Jimmy felt his bottom lip tremble a little and Mr Barrow must have caught sight of it as his countenance softened considerably.

"It's alright," Mr Barrow said stiffly, "are you well now?"

"Much better, thank you," Jimmy smiled, still holding on to Mr Barrow's arm. "And I mean it y'know. You don't have to jump back like you've been bitten every time we touch."

"I didn't want to...alarm you," he replied slowly, as if he were choosing each word with extreme caution. He stared at the place where Jimmy's fingers were pressed into the fabric of his sleeve. "Or make you uncomfortable."

"I know," Jimmy mumbled, "but you don't make me uncomfortable." _Quite the opposite really,_ he thought. "I know you'd never do anything I didn't want. I do trust you, Mr Barrow. I'd trust you with my life." 

Mr Barrow swallowed hard, unable to look Jimmy in the eye. "Thank you," he said quietly. They stood together in silence, Jimmy's fingers still curled tightly around Mr Barrow's arm, watching the sun set and the first few stars appear, like bright eyes blinking in the blanket of the night sky.

"I'd better get inside," Jimmy shivered, "before I catch my death. Goodnight Mr Barrow."

"Thomas," Mr Barrow corrected, "I think I'd be fine for you to call me Thomas, when it's just the two of us."

"Goodnight Thomas," Jimmy beamed.

"Goodnight Jimmy," Thomas replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is worried about Jimmy's state of mind, but Jimmy has an unconventional plan to make things right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken so long! Redecorating has taken over my life. Also, I can't write from Thomas's perspective but dammit, I've tried!
> 
> And I don't have a beta so please excuse my typos. iPad mini = not a great platform for extended writing.

Thomas prided himself on knowing almost everything that was going on in Downton Abbey, upstairs and down. Alliances, deals and enemies had been made, and broken, over the ten years he had been in service in a continual struggle to maintain his omniscience. And Thomas found the more he knew people, their lies and their secrets, how their faces twisted when they were upset or angry, how they held their shoulders when they were depressed or how they walked when they were cheerful, the more he could infer about their lives. It was that very power of watching, seeing and knowing that had saved Thomas umpteen times, and gotten him into trouble doubly so, but he was less inclined to admit that to himself. And even when he didn't know the exact details of a thing, he was excellent at acting as if he did, leading people to undoubtably reveal it to him anyway. Of course, his way of life had won him no friends, _But I'd rather have knowledge than friends any day_ , Thomas reasoned, _friends only protect you when it suits them; with knowledge you can make them protect you. It's good to have something to hang over a person if they ever turn on you_. And in Thomas's experience, they all turned on him in the end. _Or they die,_ he thought, with more annoyance than dismay.

For all his scheming, there was one person that Thomas could not figure out: Jimmy Kent. And he'd tried, and failed ( _spectacularly,_ he thought) to understand Jimmy and his motivations. Even now, after living and working together for so long, Thomas didn't know much more about a Jimmy than he had when the footman had arrived at Downton. Thomas thought he was a closed sort of person, but Jimmy was more closed still; he just didn't talk about himself. Of course, he would chat about music or films, anything banal and unimportant, but he never gave away anything truly personal. Everyone knew he'd worked at Lady Anstruther's before Downton, and Thomas knew how his parents had died, but that was it. Jimmy Kent was still a mystery. And just as Thomas was beginning to think that the rather awkward situation between himself and Jimmy was settling down, that he could finally cope with only friendship and nothing more, Jimmy had started acting exceedingly oddly. Thomas had been more than a little shocked to wake up with Jimmy's head pressed against his chest, his light eyes distant, a soft smile on his lips. At first Thomas had thought he was still asleep, for despite his best efforts to put an end to the more 'inappropriate' feelings, Jimmy still frequented his dreams. Then in the boot room Jimmy had asked _that_ question, of all things, with genuine interest, when previously even the mention of Thomas's homosexuality seemed to disgust him. 

_And that night in the yard,_ Thomas smiled at the memory, _he held my arm and when he looked at me, something was different._ He pushed the thoughts aside; he most definitely was not going down _that_ road again. _It's probably just wishful thinking and god knows I don't want to ruin our friendship. Although talk about giving off mixed signals,_ Thomas thought with chagrin, taking the last few steps to 'downstairs,' _and clearly something is wrong_. As he entered the corridor, angry voices echoed up from the servants hall.

"I weren't stealing it!" Jimmy exclaimed loudly. Thomas quickened his pace, walking as fast as he could without breaking into a run.

"Well I doubt it _fell_ onto your wrist!" Alfred replied, his anger evident.

"For the hundredth time," Jimmy was positively shouting, "I found it!" Thomas rounded the corner of the servants hall and found Jimmy squaring up to Alfred, his jaw set and his fists clenched at his side.

"What on earth is going on?" Thomas said sternly. The two footmen parted, both of their faces flushed with anger.

"He stole my watch," Alfred accused, pointing at Jimmy. Jimmy looked fit to explode, so Thomas strategically placed himself between Alfred and Jimmy.

"I did not! Why would I want to steal something so ugly?" Jimmy thrust out his hand, passing the wristwatch in question to Thomas. It was, indeed, a cheap and ugly timepiece. "I found it Mr Barrow, I promise. I were going to give it to Mr Carson at dinner. I weren't going to keep it."

"Then why were you wearing it?" Alfred spat, his face now as red as his hair.

"For safe keeping," Jimmy replied, his eyes on Thomas's, begging to be believed.

"Right," Thomas said with an air of authority, "if Jimmy says he found it then I have no reason to believe otherwise. Where did you find it Jimmy?"

"In the first floor china cupboard, down the side of the dresser," Jimmy said, folding his arms across his chest.

"Have you been in that cupboard recently Alfred?" Thomas asked.

"Er, well, yes," Alfred looked at his feet, "I go in and out of there every day. But Jimmy knows that, he could be makin' it up!"

"As if!" Jimmy snapped. "Everyone knows wristwatches are for women anyway." Alfred just glared.

"So," Thomas continued calmly, fixing Alfred with a deliberate stare, "it's reasonable to think the watch might've fallen off in there?" _All this over a worthless and frankly hideous wristwatch,_ he thought, annoyed.

"Well...I s'pose so, yeah." Alfred conceded and Jimmy smiled smugly at Thomas's conclusion. Thomas palmed the watch off to Alfred, who indignantly secured the timepiece to his freckled wrist.

"Good," Thomas finished, making sure his distain was evident on his face, "and I don't want to hear no more about it. You're lucky it was me and not Mr Carson who walked in on that display."  _He might not have been so eager to find you innocent, Jimmy,_ Thomas thought. He turned and walked outside, lighting a cigarette as he went. Jimmy followed closely behind and stood at Thomas's side, just as he had two days ago.

"Did you steal it?" Thomas asked, taking a deep drag on his cigarette.

"I thought you just pronounced me innocent?" Jimmy smirked, plucking the cigarette from between Thomas's lips and placing it between his own. _You don't even smoke,_ Thomas smiled, as Jimmy coughed on the fumes. 

"I weren't going to rule in favour of Alfred now, was I?" Thomas lit himself another cigarette, the previous one now lost to Jimmy.

"You don't believe me?" Jimmy pouted, tapping the ash from his cig awkwardly. Thomas just raised his eyebrows. "I did find it," Jimmy wrinkled his nose, "just not where I said I did."

"Where then?" Thomas regarded Jimmy with a wry smile. Jimmy leant in close, so close that Thomas could smell his cologne through the cigarette smoke. Jimmy brushed Thomas's hair back with the tips of his fingers and whispered into his ear: "On his nightstand." Both men fell about in fits; Thomas laughed so hard he dropped his cigarette onto the gravel, Jimmy clutched his side and leant on Thomas for support.

"James Kent, you're a terrible criminal," Thomas chuckled, suddenly aware that Jimmy was leaning right against him, their sides pressed together. _God, I love you_ , Thomas thought, suddenly overwhelmed with emotions he battled so hard to conceal 

"Yeah, but you still love me," Jimmy said, as if he'd read Thomas's mind. Jimmy gasped, his hand going up to his mouth as he realised what he'd said. Thomas blinked, his face reddening involuntarily. "I'm sorry," Jimmy proffered, bumping his shoulder against Thomas's, "I've a habit of saying stupid things."

"Really?" Thomas mocked, "I'd never have noticed." Both men grinned awkwardly, silent for a long moment.

"I'm glad we're friends now," Jimmy said, apropos of nothing, "I really am. 

"Because I keep rescuing you from the trouble you manage to get yourself into?" Thomas gave Jimmy a sidelong glance; Jimmy was looking right at him, his face scrunched up in thought. 

"No," he shook his head, "well yes, but not just that. Because I like you. And I don't like many people." 

"Well that makes two of us," Thomas fiddled with another cigarette, not smoking it but wanting to hold it all the same.

"I guess it's Jimmy _and_ Thomas contra mundum now," Jimmy smiled earnestly, the sentiment drawing a grin from Thomas's lips and marking his cheeks with a blush. Jimmy leant forwards and pressed his forehead against Thomas's collarbone, his arm snaking around Thomas's back, pulling their chests together into a hug. Thomas stiffened, terrified to even breathe, let alone move, in case he frightened Jimmy away.

"Jimmy," Thomas started, unsure what to say next. He looked around the courtyard nervously, worried someone would catch them in this moment of intimacy. _Oh Jimmy, what is it?_ Thomas thought, suddenly worried. _You've been so strange recently._

"I dream about it," Jimmy said quietly, "all the time. I'm so tired but I don't want to sleep because I dream, I always dream." 

"About what Jimmy?" Thomas warily draped an arm around Jimmy's shoulders.

"Thirsk, the fair," Jimmy pressed himself harder against Thomas, his thigh coming up between Thomas's legs. "What I let them do to you. 'Cept it's different in my dreams, you just keep dying and I can't stop it." He looked up at Thomas, his eyes glassy. "I try but I can't stop it. You're always gone and I just can't save you. I know s'not real but it hurts. It hurts so much it's like someone sat on my chest and pulled my heart out with their bare hands. And I ache with it, all the time, I ache inside because I keep letting you die." Jimmy sniffed, tears softly rolling down his flushed cheeks.

"Oh Jimmy," Thomas wiped Jimmy's tears away with his thumb, his heart galloping wildly in his chest. "But I'm alright. I'm not dead; I'm fine and I'm here." He squeezed Jimmy's arm, trying to comfort him, but Jimmy just started to sob, his chest hitching and heaving against Thomas's. 

"I know," Jimmy cried, "in my rational mind I know, but Thomas, I can't stop the dreams and it's driving me half mad. I don't know what to do." Both men jumped at the crashing of the gong sounding within the house. Jimmy sprang back, the spell broken, and wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, "I'm out of sorts."

"I can see that," Thomas said, his brow furrowed in concern. "We can talk later, after dinner." 

"I'll wait up, come and find me," Jimmy said, and he left to see to his duties.

_Well_ , Thomas thought, _that was unexpected._ He shook his head, the joy of  the intimate contact with Jimmy overshadowed by worry. _It'll be alright Jimmy, I'll look after you, I promise._

 ~

Thomas kept trying to catch Jimmy's eye all through dinner, but Jimmy busied himself with serving or stared into the distance, his face pulled into the trained, blank expression of a servant. 

"I say Barrow," Lord Grantham exclaimed, "you're looking well again. Are you completely ship-shape now?" Thomas snapped to attention, aware that he hadn't been following the conversation at the upstairs table as he normally would have.

 "Yes thank you," Thomas smiled as graciously as he could manage.

"It was an awful business," Lady Grantham added, "to think such a thing could happen in broad daylight! Did you ever get to the bottom of it Barrow?"

"Er no, your Ladyship," Thomas replied, hoping he wouldn't be pressed for details. He dared a glance at Jimmy; his face was ashen, his bottom lip quivering. Thomas's stomach dropped at Jimmy's obvious distress. "But I'm alright and that's what matters."

"Quite right," Lord Grantham said. He turned to Branson and started up a conversation about crop rotations, so Thomas assumed the topic was closed. Jimmy seemed to visibly deflate, his shoulders slumping forwards. Thomas noted the deep, blue circles beneath Jimmy's eyes and how his usually perfectly coiffed hair fell across his brow untidily. Even his bow-tie was crooked. Thomas risked throwing him a comforting smile - Jimmy smiled back weakly, the corners of his mouth drawing up almost imperceptibly. _It really is bothering him,_ Thomas frowned, _he looks like he needs the vapours at the merest mention of it.We really have to talk._

~

By the time Thomas had finished his duties and made his way to the servants hall for dinner, Jimmy had already disappeared. He ached to ask where Jimmy was, but O'Brien kept looking at him, as if she was waiting for Thomas to broach the subject so she could chime in with a snide insinuation. Thomas ate quickly and quietly, trying to avoid eye contact with anyone, and waited for Carson to dismiss him for the evening. He checked the courtyard for Jimmy, but was empty apart from the shabby tom cat who often lurked under the bench waiting hopefully for scraps. _He must have gone up already,_ Thomas thought, making his way back inside. He bumped into Anna in the corridor; she was taking some of Lady Mary's shoes to the boot room for polishing.

"Anna?" Thomas started, checking the corridor was empty. _It's safe enough to ask Anna_ , he thought, _she's no enemy._ "Have you seen Jimmy this evening?"

"Yes," Anna smiled sweetly, "he managed to tip a cup of tea all over himself at dinner and got very upset about it. He disappeared upstairs after that and I haven't seen him since. Did you need him for something?" 

"No," Thomas frowned, "it can wait." _He said to 'find' him though_ , Thomas thought, _and I'm worried about his state of mind_.

"Is Jimmy...alright?" Anna asked; she looked genuinely concerned. "He seems rather out of sorts."

"I don't know," Thomas lied, "he seems alright to me."

"If you say so Mr Barrow," Anna replied knowingly, "then I'll say goodnight." Thomas nodded goodnight to Anna and made his way up to the servants quarters, forcing himself to walk casually when he wanted nothing more than to run through the halls calling Jimmy's name. Thomas paused outside Jimmy's room, his hand drawn up ready to knock. There was no light visible under his door; either he was asleep or he wasn't there. He rapped lightly on the door, but there was no answer, and Thomas didn't dare set foot in Jimmy's room uninvited, for obvious reasons. But Jimmy had been so distraught that Thomas couldn't bare the thought of going to bed without talking to him, comforting him somehow. _It hurts me too,_ Thomas realised, _when he's distressed. It's like I feel his emotions even more sharply than he does._ Concern for Jimmy overriding concern for his own well-being, Thomas quietly opened Jimmy's door and peered into the dark room; it was empty. _Where the hell is he?_

Thomas was about to go back downstairs and search all the rooms when he noticed a light shining from under his own door. _Odd,_ he thought, _I didn't leave a lamp on. Did I?_ Thomas opened his bedroom door and was stunned to see Jimmy sitting cross-legged on his bed, in his nightclothes, playing patience with the deck of cards that was perpetually on his person. He smiled nervously when Thomas entered, scrabbling to pick up the cards and stuff them back into their box.

"Jimmy?" Thomas queried, closing the door behind him, "What are you doing here?"

"Just waiting for you," Jimmy fiddled with the deck, thumbing the box open and shut. "You don't mind, do you?" 

"No," Thomas smiled, feeling his whole body grow warm at the sight of Jimmy in his pyjamas, "as long as you're not stealing things from _my_ nightstand."

"Never," Jimmy laughed, tossing his cards to one side, "I wouldn't dare." Thomas slipped off his jacket and hung it in the closet, aware of Jimmy's eyes on him. "I've got a plan you know," Jimmy said, suddenly serious.

"Oh?" Thomas made to sit in his armchair, but Jimmy shook his head and motioned for Thomas to come and sit beside him on the bed. The under-butler cautiously lowered himself onto the cot, the springs groaning in protest. He deliberately kept his distance, sitting right at the foot of the bed, but Jimmy shuffled closer until his shoulder was touching Thomas's.

"Yes," Jimmy nodded, looking into the middle distance, "I'm going to sleep here tonight."

"What?" Thomas was incredulous, "I must have misheard you. Because I thought you said you were going to sleep _here_. In my room. And that _can't_  be right."

"I mean it," Jimmy said firmly. "Thomas, I'm going half mad from lack of sleep. I've thought about it a lot and I just know I'll e able to sleep in your bed." 

"That's all well and good," Thomas snorted, "and where am I to sleep? In your bed I suppose?"

"No, of course not," Jimmy pulled at Thomas's elbow. "You'll be here with me. That's the point. If I can see that you're alright, that you're alive," Jimmy's blue eyes were almost manic, "I'll stop having the dream. You'll be right next to me and I'll know you're ok." Thomas stood up, shaking his head.

"Jimmy, you can't just...sleep over," Thomas paced the small room, his heart thumping. "It's not _appropriate_."

"Sod what's appropriate," Jimmy said, pulling a face, "when did you ever care about what's appropriate? I need you Thomas. Please. We're friends, aren't we? Please, help me." He sounded so worn, so desperate, that Thomas found himself saying _ok_ when he meant to say _no_. Jimmy smiled, relief smoothing out the lines of his face, and pulled back the covers, wriggling down into the bed; Thomas just stood in the middle of the room, wondering how they would both fit in the small cot.

"You better get undressed," Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut, "I won't peek. I promise." Thomas hesitated before quickly undressing, throwing his discarded livery over the armchair and pulling on plaid pyjamas. He caught Jimmy's reflection in the mirror over his nightstand; Jimmy's eyes were fixed on Thomas's back, studying his body as he changed. A warm heaviness pooled in Thomas's stomach: _he's watching me change,_ he thought. 

"Ok," Thomas said as he finished undressing, trying to reassure himself that everything was indeed ok.

"Get in," Jimmy directed, his face serious. 

"Are you sure?" Thomas hovered around the foot of the bed. "You're not going to...get upset with me again are you?" He grimaced, unpleasant memories of the last time he'd loomed over Jimmy in bed invading his thoughts. _I'd lose my job for certain this time, no question, if he were to say just one word. But he needs me._  

"I'm sure Thomas," Jimmy shook his head, hurt, "and this is different. That stuff is all in the past. We're friends now, aren't we?" He turned back the covers and motioned for a Thomas to join him. _Friends don't usually share a bed though,_ Thomas reasoned as he slipped stiffly into bed. He tried to keep some space between himself and the footman, but the narrowness of the cot meant they were pressed together from head to toe, even with both men turned on their sides. Jimmy twisted and fidgeted until he was facing Thomas, their noses almost touching. He rested his head against Thomas's collarbone and sighed deeply, his body warm against the under-butler's. Thomas was acutely aware of every curve and contour of Jimmy's body, the rise and fall of his chest, the pressure of Jimmy's arm around his waist, how Jimmy's hands balled in the soft cotton of Thomas's pyjama top.

"Mmmmm," Jimmy mumbled, and Thomas felt the vibration through his chest. He clenched his jaw, stifling the 'oh' of pleasure that threatened to fall from his lips.

"Alright?" Thomas managed to to stutter, keeping his body as still as he could manage, fighting the urge to just wrap himself around Jimmy. He could feel his arousal deepening; it had been a long time since he'd shared a bed with another man. _And even longer since I shared it with a man I loved,_ Thomas confessed.

"Yeah," Jimmy nodded sleepily. The two men lay silently, Thomas still not daring to move, until Jimmy's breathing slowed and his body relaxed, indicating he had fallen asleep.

_Well,_ Thomas thought with disbelief, _it seems the world has gone mad. Or rather Jimmy has._ As Jimmy was now asleep, Thomas allowed himself to move a little, trying to get comfortable. _I'll never sleep like this,_ he sighed, _not with him pressed against me. It's an oddly pleasant sort of torture._ Thomas settled for studying Jimmy's face; it was serene, but he still looked positively drawn, almost sickly. Thomas lightly brushed Jimmy's golden-blonde hair back from his forehead, overwhelmed by a rush of concern and affection. _This is a little thing really,_ he sighed, _I'd do anything for you Jimmy, and I'll help you through this, whatever 'this' is. I promise._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jimmy's dreams aren't always the nightmares they seem to be - Jimmy has a revelation regarding Thomas that changes everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: this one gets a wee bit smutty.

Jimmy slept, deeply and soundly, for the first time in weeks. When dreams finally invaded his unconscious mind they were unmemorable at first, a random assortment of conversations and events from the past few days. In his dream Jimmy was walking through the Abbey, a silver tray in his hand. As he passed through the doorway that  _should_  have led to the library, Jimmy inexplicably found himself in the middle of Thirsk fair. He blinked in the sunlight, easily accepting the incongruity as one does within dreams, as he watched the hustle of people around him. The carousel twirled noisily, a mix of organ music and shrieks of joy filling Jimmy's senses. He stared, watching the rise and fall of the gaudily painted horses and the smiling faces of the riders, until the carousel ground to a stop. Jimmy wandered through the crowds, finding his way to a large, roped area that he recognised as a tug-of-war.

"I'll have a go," Jimmy found himself saying, although he had no team to support him. He slipped off his jacket and took up the rope, realising slowly that the opposing team had gathered and consisted of Mr Carson, Alfred, O'Brien and his dead father. "S'not fair," Jimmy cried, "there's no one on my side."

"Everyone knows you're a cheat though," Alfred shouted, "and a coward. And a thief."

"Am not!" Jimmy replied, anxiety rising in his chest.

"James," Mr Carson frowned, "you're a disappointment to everyone." Jimmy's father nodded in agreement.

"And we all know  _exactly_  what you are," O'Brien smiled wickedly.

"No one's ever on my side," Jimmy said, taking the slack of the rope, ready to pull.

"I'm on your side," a voice added from behind him. Jimmy  _knew_  it was Thomas before he even looked. "I'm always on your side, I promise," Thomas smiled, the rope in his hands. They pulled and pulled, until Jimmy thought his knuckles would pop and his arms would jump right out of the sockets. Finally the other team relinquished the rope and Jimmy fell on top of Thomas, their limbs tangled, laughing breathlessly.

"We beat them!" Jimmy smiled, kissing Thomas gently on his soft, red lips.

 "Course we did," Thomas replied.

“I never hated you,” dream-Jimmy found himself saying, “I hated myself, I hated my confusion, I hated how you made me _feel_.”

"Shh, it’s ok, I love you," Thomas said, but he wasn't smiling anymore. There were tears on his cadaverous cheeks and his whole body shook with the effort of breathing. Jimmy looked down at his hands to find they were red with blood - there was a knife sunk into Thomas's ribcage right to the hilt - and Jimmy knew he'd put it there.

"I'm sorry!" Jimmy cried, looking around for help. They were back under that tunnel, where the beating had occurred, but it was night now and there were no robbers to be seen. "I never meant to hurt you Thomas."

"S'alright," Thomas sputtered, blood on his lips, "I'd do anything for you Jimmy. S'alright Jimmy, s'alright. Wake up Jimmy, s'alright."

Jimmy woke with a start, disoriented and afraid, and nearly tumbled out of the narrow cot. Thomas caught him by the lapels of his pyjamas and steadied him, concern etched into his face.

"You alright?" Thomas said, gripping Jimmy's shoulders firmly, "You were having a bad dream, I reckon."

"Yes, I was," Jimmy nodded. It was still dark in the room and Jimmy had no idea how long he'd slept for. He placed a shaking hand against Thomas's chest, right over the spot where the knife had pierced him in the nightmare.  _I killed you, though I didn't mean to,_ Jimmy thought,  _I always seem to hurt you_. He gave over to tears, grabbing at Thomas's pyjamas, pulling Thomas down on top of himself in a desperate hug. "I'm sorry," Jimmy sobbed, "if I ever hurt you, I'm sorry for it."

"Jimmy," Thomas said, confused, "it were just a dream."

"I don't mean  _that_ ," Jimmy replied, "I mean before. Back when...you know." Jimmy looked away, aware of how  _good_ , and _comforting_ , and  _safe_ it felt to be beneath Thomas, to have his weight pressing down on him. "I treated you badly, very badly indeed, and you didn't deserve it."

"Oh," Thomas swallowed hard, his usually stoic face betraying how much the words really meant to him, "thank you Jimmy." Jimmy watched how Thomas's lips moved into a bashful smile, how his hair fell messily over his brow as his head dipped, how his pale eyes darted downwards in embarrassment.  _He still loves me,_ Jimmy realised, the full force of it taking all the wind out of him,  _even though I ignored him and reviled him and ripped him apart, he still loves me._  Jimmy brushed his fingers over Thomas's cheek and looked at him - and it was like he'd never really seen him properly before, like he'd always been out of focus with who Thomas really was. Thomas Barrow had been many things to Jimmy; Mr Barrow the valet, Barrow the molester, Mr Barrow the under-butler, Thomas Barrow the hero and Thomas the friend. Now, finally, all that was stripped back and he was just  **Thomas**.  _No,_ Jimmy thought,  _now he's 'Thomas who loves me'. No one else in the whole world cares a damn about me, but he…he loves me._ Jimmy wrapped his hands around Thomas's neck, leant up and pressed a hesitant kiss against his slightly parted lips. Thomas jumped off the bed, his face flushed and confused.

"Jimmy?" Thomas started, shaking his head, "I...you...what?"

"It's alright," Jimmy sat up, his skin tingling where Thomas’s stubble had rubbed against his jaw, "calm down."

"Calm down?" Thomas hissed, "You just...kissed me." Jimmy's heart sank - _maybe I was mistaken,_ he thought. "Why Jimmy? What is going on with you?" Thomas finished, gesturing wildly.

"I...wanted to," Jimmy said, feeling utterly lost, "and I thought you'd want me to."

"You know I do," Thomas whispered, "but Jimmy, it's not right. You're not yourself. I couldn't...take advantage. I promised I would never take liberties with you again." Jimmy stood up and closed the space between them, taking Thomas in his trembling arms. Thomas didn't reciprocate, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

"You're wrong though," Jimmy confessed, "for the first time in my life I  _am_ myself. I feel like I'm just finding out who I really am, and who you really are too."

"I know who I am, and what I am, it’s you who don’t know his own mind," Thomas sighed. He looked at Jimmy with questioning eyes, his brow furrowed with worry, before bringing his arms up into a tenuous embrace. "But I know what it's like, realising you're  _different_. That you're...you know." 

Jimmy shook his head: "What?"

"Er, like  _me_ ," Thomas clarified. Jimmy stepped back, appalled. 

"I never said that," he countered, his face screwing up in disgust, "I'm not...lavender, if that's what you mean."

"But you kissed me," Thomas said, dumbfounded.

"That doesn't mean I'm an awful ponce," Jimmy snarled, "it's just, just..." He stepped in to Thomas, squaring up with him.

"Just what?" Thomas spat, "A passing dalliance, is it? A little test to make sure you don't bat for my team?" 

“No you bloody idiot,” Jimmy replied hotly, “it’s you. It’s just you. I’ve tried to ignore it and deny it and I bloody well wish I didn’t feel like this, alright? It’s wrong and disgusting, is what it is.”

“Get out Jimmy,” Thomas said, his voice low, his face tight with anger.

“No,” Jimmy stomped his foot like a toddler in the midst of a tantrum. “I’ll have my say.” Thomas tried to turn away but Jimmy grabbed his wrist, pulling him back.

“You’ve said enough!” Thomas’s voice cracked and Jimmy realised it wasn’t so much anger as _hurt_ on Thomas’s red face. “You’re a stupid, self-centred child who doesn’t know his arse from his elbow and if I didn’t love you so damn much I’d bloody hate you, James Kent!”

Jimmy knew he should be angry, outraged even, but he found the throbbing of his obvious hard-on rather distracting. He grabbed Thomas roughly, crashing their lips together in a passionate and wholly unromantic kiss, pressing his erection into Thomas's hip. Thomas gasped, his hands on Jimmy's back, increasing the friction between their bodies. Jimmy felt Thomas's impressive manhood stiffen against him and the knowledge that he had done that, he had aroused Thomas so with just an inexperienced fumble, made desire pull at him somewhere low in his stomach. Jimmy moaned against Thomas's lips as they kissed and ground their hips together - he desperately wanted Thomas to touch him, although he thought he might come the instant he did.

"Jimmy," Thomas groaned, his voice thick, "Jimmy can I..." He pulled back, his lips bruised, looking at Jimmy for permission to do  _something_. Jimmy nodded, his throat tight. Thomas slipped his hand down Jimmy's pyjamas, taking his straining cock in hand. _I’m not bloody lavender,_ Jimmy thought, _I’m not._

"Oh, _oh_ , god, Thomas, yes, I,  **yes** ," Jimmy mumbled, unprepared for just how  _good_  it would feel to have Thomas's fingers curled around his cock, unable to stop his hips from bucking forward into Thomas's hand. Thomas held Jimmy tightly with his other arm, supporting him, whilst laying a trail of kisses on Jimmy's jaw. Jimmy's head fell back, his eyes pressed shut, as Thomas expertly ran his hand along Jimmy's length. "Thomas I, I, I can't," Jimmy panted, his knees weak, but Thomas just quickened his rhythm and kissed Jimmy forcefully, slipping his tongue between Jimmy's lips. It seemed Thomas's earlier misgivings had been melted away by the heat of passion. 

"Thomas, oh, _yes_ , I, oh, I'm going to," Jimmy hissed, his whole body stiffening in almost-pain, before he came, hard, in Thomas's hand. Bright pinpricks of light danced before Jimmy's closed eyes and it took all his strength, and a little help from Thomas, to stop himself collapsing to the bedroom floor. Thomas lowered Jimmy gently onto the bed, wiping his hand on the sheets. Jimmy felt a deep blush bloom across his cheeks as Thomas lay down beside him, his own arousal still evident. His looped his arms around Jimmy, placing a soft kiss at the corner of Jimmy's mouth.

"Alright?" Thomas asked, his eyes dark.

"Yes, I...that was...uhh,  _incredible_ ," Jimmy gushed. "I've brought myself off before," he blushed harder, "but it's never been like  _that_."

"What about all the girls you've been with?" Thomas joked, an eyebrow raised. Jimmy was uncharacteristically silent. "You have...done things before haven't you?"

"Yes," Jimmy attested, "well, I've  _kissed_ girls and that," which was true enough, "but I've never really...I mean I could have. But I just...well. Haven't." Lying next to the obviously more experienced Thomas, with his own semen drying on the inside of his pyjamas, Jimmy couldn't think of a time when he'd felt quite so embarrassed.

"Oh." Thomas said flatly.

"Sorry...I know I'm not...experienced," Jimmy replied, his voice small and threatening to crack.

"You've nothing to be sorry for," Thomas squeezed Jimmy's hand, "I should be sorry. If I'd've known I'd've made it more special."

"It was already pretty special," Jimmy said, so quietly he wasn't sure if Thomas had heard him. He ran a still trembling hand through Thomas's dishevelled hair and kissed him, daring to dip his own tongue inexpertly into Thomas's mouth. Thomas moaned, his voice a low rumble that Jimmy felt, rather than heard, and pressed his hard-on into Jimmy's side. "Oh," Jimmy exclaimed, "you're still...I forgot." He reached out to touch the bulge in Thomas's pyjamas, but Thomas caught his hand.

"You don't have to, not if you don't want to," Thomas said, but Jimmy shook his head, pulling his hand free.

"I want to, but," Jimmy paused, embarrassed again, "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Sure you do," Thomas grinned, "you said you've done it to yourself before. Just do what you normally do, to me."

"Ok," Jimmy nodded determinedly, "ok."

"S'alright Jimmy," Thomas touched his arm tenderly, "it's good."

Jimmy ran his fingers lightly over the plaid cotton of Thomas's crotch, raising a muffled moan from Thomas; he had the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, his eyes heavy-lidded. Decisively, Jimmy pulled down Thomas's pyjamas, revealing the full extent of his arousal, surrounded by a thatch of dark hair. Jimmy's own cock stirred in approval as Jimmy settled himself beside Thomas and wrapped his left hand firmly around his erection.

"Ah, yes, ah, Jimmy," Thomas said, his breath hitching in his chest. 

"Have you thought about this before?" Jimmy asked, setting a steady rhythm.

"Um, I, yes," Thomas managed to answer, his fists balled in the duvet. 

"So have I," Jimmy admitted, and he kissed the tip of Thomas's prick, flicking his tongue out. Thomas made a strangled noise that Jimmy took to be a good thing, so he repeated the action.  _What am I doing?_  he thought suddenly, then,  _it's good and I don't want to stop_. _He **loves** me._

"Jimmy don't," Thomas groaned, his hips coming up off the bed involuntarily, "s'too much, I can't." Jimmy heeded the warning, working Thomas's cock with his hands, varying the speed and pressure, like he did when he touched himself. Thomas twisted and writhed like he was in agony, but the noises he made confirmed it was indeed a deep pleasure. "Jimmy I can't, I can't," Thomas repeated, "oh Jimmy I love you, I do." Jimmy leant over Thomas to kiss him just as Thomas came, his seed spilling over Jimmy's fingers, Thomas's whole body racked with his orgasm. Jimmy watched Thomas’s face with interest; his eyes were closed, his mouth open in a silent ‘oh’ of pleasure. Jimmy smiled; _he’s so very handsome,_ he thought, and lay down with his head on Thomas’s chest. His heart was thudding so hard that Jimmy thought it might thump it’s way right out of Thomas’s ribcage.

“Thomas?” Jimmy said, playing with a button on Thomas’s pyjama top.

“Mmmhm?” Thomas replied, still trying to compose himself.

“Do you really love me?” Jimmy asked, with a frown. _I can’t imagine why anyone would love me,_ he mused, _not once they know me._ Thomas lifted Jimmy’s chin and looked deep into his eyes, swiping the pad of his thumb over Jimmy’s swung lips.

“I really do,” he said, grinning, “though sometimes I wonder why.” Jimmy poked Thomas in his side. “Ouch, watch the ribs,” Thomas grimaced, “I’m still a little sore.”

“Sorry! I forgot about the ribs,” Jimmy said, “though I could never forget what you did for me.”

“S’alright,” Thomas smiled so earnestly that Jimmy couldn't help but smile in return. “Jimmy…what’s changed? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m happy, but this is all…so sudden. A few weeks ago you said ‘I can never give you what you want,’ and a few weeks before that you could barely stand to be in the same room as me. I just want to understand why this is happening, glad as I am that it _is_ happening.”

“Thirsk,” Jimmy shook his head.

“When I took that beating for you?” Thomas frowned, “I hope this isn’t because of guilt Jimmy?”

“No, it’s not that. Just up until that point I guess I thought you had…certain intentions towards me. That you might love me hadn’t entered into my mind.”

“You thought I just wanted to bugger you senseless?” Thomas mocked, but his eyes were serious.

“I suppose,” Jimmy shrugged, “people are only bothered about me because I’m handsome, I know that. No one actually knows anything about me, no one likes me for _me_. No one’s ever loved me, except my parents. Even my old dad used to say I was a spoiled little thing.”

“You are a spoiled little thing,” Thomas smirked, embracing Jimmy, “but you’re wrong. People here like you – they like you a good deal more than they like me.”

“Ha,” Jimmy scoffed, “as if. When the… _incident_ ” – Thomas blushed knowingly – “happened, they sided with you, for the most part, even though you were wrong and it was illegal and I had every right to be upset.”

“You did, and I’m sorry,” Thomas interjected.

“I know, it’s alright,” Jimmy nodded. “Point is, Mrs Hughes, His Lordship, even Bates…they stood up for you. Bates told me I was a big girl’s blouse and I needed to get over it,” Jimmy pouted. “It were only O’Brien and Alfred who were out to get you in trouble, and I don’t think Alfred meant it really. His strings were bein’ pulled by O’Brien, just like mine were when I tried to get you sacked with no reference.”

“Hmmph,” Thomas frowned, “O’Brien has a lot to bloody answer for. You know she told me you were…interested. That you were always on about me to Alfred. I’d never have dared dream it, if it weren’t for her.”

“Old witch,” Jimmy scowled, “I don’t know why you were ever mates with her.”

“I didn’t have anyone else,” Thomas shrugged.

Jimmy crawled up Thomas and kissed him tenderly. “You’ve got me now.”

“So it really is Jimmy _and_ Thomas contra mundum now then?” Thomas seemed to have a hard time believing what had just happened.

“It is,” Jimmy nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of speech, I know. Sorry!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas can't quite believe something so good could happen to him. A trip to York might help to reassure him.

Thomas was walking on air. The unimaginable had happened; Jimmy had done a spectacular about-face and decided that he wanted to be with him. Not just a friendship - an honest-to-goodness relationship. He was giddy with the joy of it, but terrified and flighty; worried that Jimmy would change his mind suddenly and take it all away. Thomas was sure he would die, now that he knew what it was like to have Jimmy, his golden haired darling, if he ever had to live without him. Even worse was the niggling worry that Jimmy would get frightened and thoroughly destroy him by reporting him to Carson or the police.  
  
"I'm not going to change my mind, I promise," Jimmy had said, for the twentieth time, weaving his fingers with Thomas's, "I want this. I want you." And they'd kissed and kissed until Thomas's lips were sore and he worried his heart would explode from sheer happiness.  
  
But Thomas wasn't used to happiness and was plagued by fear of being found out; more for Jimmy's sake than his own. They were cautious - Jimmy especially so - but he was sure O'Brien had noticed something; she insinuated as much anyway. She had no proof of course, but then she never needed it to cause trouble. At least he had 'her Ladyship's soap' as insurance if O'Brien decided to set herself against them.  
  
It had been almost two weeks since 'that' night, a night that would always be etched into Thomas's memory, and their relationship was blossoming. Well, as much as it could in a world where their kind were shunned and horsewhipped, if they were ever caught. But they stole moments where they could and slept together, side-by-side in one or the other's tiny cot, as often as they dared. Jimmy's desire for Thomas had become like a burning inferno - as if that first night of fumbled groping had lit the touch paper of an insatiable fire of lust. Thomas had to remind himself that Jimmy was young and that before Thomas he'd had ( _very_ ) limited experience; he was eager, if artless, and ready to learn and try almost anything. Thomas grinned at all the ways he'd made Jimmy sigh and moan and almost _squeal_ over the past fortnight, and how the best was still yet to come.  
  
The servants hall was already full when Thomas finally sat down for breakfast; he'd checked every fire was lit and chased up the hall boys to bring in more wood, made a list of rooms that needed airing or extra attention in the way of dusting, discussed menus for next week with Mrs Patmore and arranged to have the flowers in the house changed, all before his day started properly. He wondered what it was exactly that Carson did anymore, besides the paperwork and wages for the household.  
  
"Good morning Mr Barrow," Jimmy smiled as Thomas took a seat directly opposite him. Jimmy's feet settled against Thomas's beneath the table.  
  
"Jimmy," Thomas nodded, trying to appear nonchalant, when inside his heart was singing at the way the younger man gazed at him over his breakfast. Not two years ago Jimmy had looked at him over the same table with such hatred, such disgust, that Thomas had thought even friendship would be impossible.  
  
"You seem to have cheered up Jimmy," Mrs Patmore noted, plonking a plate of toast on the table.  
  
"Yes Mrs Patmore," Jimmy grinned, his face bright and handsome, "all's right in the world."  
  
"Well that's good to hear," she laughed, her eyes flicking knowingly to Thomas.  
  
"Ooh I bet he's got a sweetheart," Daisy chirruped, "a secret one!" Thomas focused on keeping his countenance inscrutable; Jimmy's ever-expressive face burned with a blush, his lips pulling up into an ill-disguised smile. His knee bumped against Thomas's.  
  
"Have not," Jimmy contested, "an' if I did it wouldn't be none of your business anyway."  
  
"Sounds like love to me," Mrs Patmore teased. Ivy looked at Jimmy unhappily, her lips pressed into a tight line. Thomas felt a brief stab of sympathy for Ivy; he too knew the sorrow of pining after the unreachable Jimmy Kent.  
  
"Oh leave him alone," Anna interjected, "he's allowed to have a secret, if he wants to."  
  
"Thank you Anna," Jimmy smiled and poured her a cup of tea.  
  
"You have to wonder why he'd need to keep it a secret though, wouldn't you?" O'Brien muttered, but no one answered. Thomas shot her a dark look, but Carson entered before he could make a reply, which was probably for the best. Everyone stood briefly, waiting for Carson to take his seat, before settling back to their breakfasts.  
  
"The Dowager Countess and Mrs Crawley will be joining the family for dinner this evening," Carson announced, "but her Ladyship, Lady Mary, Lady Edith and Lady Rose are going to London tomorrow and are not returning until Sunday."  
  
"Does that mean we'll get any extra time off?" Jimmy asked hopefully.  
  
"I don't see why it would," Carson harrumphed, "we'll still have His Lordship and Mr Branson to attend to."  
  
"But they'll hardly need two footmen and two butlers to serve at dinner, will they?" Mrs Hughes raised her eyebrows. "It's been rather glum for all of us recently Mr Carson, why not let the young folk have a little respite from it? We could give Mr Barrow, Jimmy, Daisy, Miss O'Brien and the housemaids some time on Friday, and Mr Bates, Anna, Alfred, Ivy and the hall boys half a day on Saturday. If Mrs Patmore can spare Daisy and Ivy?"

"I can manage well enough," Mrs Patmore agreed.  
  
"That way there's still enough hands to make sure all the work's done," Mrs Hughes reasoned, "surely you can't find that too disagreeable, Mr Carson?"  
  
"Oh, very well," Carson sighed, resigned, "my arm has been thoroughly twisted." The staff smiled, delighted, and started to make plans. Jimmy sat back, incredibly pleased with himself, as if it had been he, rather than Mrs Hughes, who had convinced Carson.  
  
"We could go to Thirsk, or Ripon," Anna suggested. Bates nodded in agreement.  
  
"D'ya fancy a film, Ivy?" Alfred asked, his face flushing crimson as Ivy accepted.  
  
"I'm going to visit Mr Mason then," Daisy said, collecting empty plates from the table.  
  
"Mr Barrow," Jimmy said quietly, the excited chatter around the table providing some privacy, "I was thinking of going into York, if you feel like joining me?"  
  
"I have a few errands to run in York actually," Thomas lied, in case anyone _was_ listening, "I'd be delighted to join you."  
  
~  
  
"So what are we getting up to in York?" Thomas asked, lighting a cigarette. Jimmy was already in the yard, smoking and waiting for a Thomas to join him. Autumn had truly taken hold now; the trees were almost stripped of their umber leaves and Jimmy's breath was visible, mingling with the smoke from his cigarette.  
  
"I'm not sure yet," Jimmy smiled, leaning in to Thomas and discreetly curling his fingers around Thomas's own. "I thought maybe a walk, some shopping and a pub lunch. Unless you'd like to take me dancing at the Thé Dansat?"

"If only," Thomas smirked, "I think we'd cause quite a scene."  
  
"And get arrested," Jimmy added, "or beaten up."  
  
"The two aren't mutually exclusive you know," Thomas blew out a cloud of smoke, the breeze instantly carrying it away from his face.  
  
"I don't think I'd fare well in prison," Jimmy frowned. Thomas chuckled; his honest laughter always made Jimmy's heart swell and his chest ache. "Alright, no need to be quite so amused by the thought. It wouldn't hurt you to disagree."  
  
"You'd prefer flattery?" Thomas smiled _. I'd never let that happen Jimmy,_ he thought, _I'd take the fall, if it ever got that far._  
  
"From you? I would," Jimmy flicked his cigarette across the yard and made to kiss Thomas.  
  
"Not here!" Thomas hissed, backing away. Jimmy caught his wrist, looked left and right, then dragged Thomas around the corner of the house. It was deserted, save for the smart green auto Branson used to flit between the farms and fields of the estate.  
  
"You ever think we'll get to drive anything like this?" Jimmy said, examining the shining exterior of the motor.  
  
"Not unless you have a secret fortune you're planning on sharing," Thomas replied. Jimmy glanced around to make sure he wasn't being observed, and then hopped into the driver’s seat. He grabbed the wheel and pretended to drive.  
  
"Where to, Mr Barrow?" He grinned, saluting.  
  
"What are you like?" Thomas smiled, in spite of himself.  
  
"Get in," Jimmy gestured, "it'll be fun."  
  
"What if we get caught?" Thomas resisted, but he was already opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat, the smell of leather and engine oil washing over him.  
  
"Then they'll find two men sitting in a motor vehicle. I dare say they'll live through it," Jimmy shrugged, "I hear Branson still plays chauffeur. The maids say his clothes are always covered in motor grease and farm muck." He wrinkled his nose at the thought.  
  
"Wouldn't surprise me," Thomas said with distain, running his hands over the leather interior.  
  
"You never liked him much?"  
  
"I can't say that I did," Thomas frowned, "he wasn't good enough for Lady Sybil. But I don't suppose I'd have thought anyone good enough for her."  
  
"Hmm," Jimmy nodded, "anyone would think you were sweet on her."  
  
"I wouldn't have been good enough for her neither," Thomas replied, "and you know I prefer...blondes."  
  
Jimmy laughed, pulling on a pair of driving goggles that had been resting on the dashboard. In that moment he looked so youthful and invigorated, his hair falling carelessly over his brow, his blue eyes bright with delight, Thomas couldn't help but kiss him. Jimmy wrapped his arms around Thomas, his lips warm and his tongue soft in Thomas's mouth, his body pressing Thomas into his seat. Thomas didn't hear the footsteps in the gravel until it was too late; he pushed Jimmy away harshly, his eyes wide.  
  
"What's th'matter?" Jimmy said, following Thomas's line of sight. Branson was standing not ten feet away, his eyebrows so high they'd successfully merged with his hairline. _We're done for,_ Thomas panicked, watching the colour drain from Jimmy's face as he felt his own heat into a blush so deep he must have been glowing.  
  
"Mr Branson," Thomas started, although he had no idea where he was going. It had been obvious what they were doing, even to someone as unobservant as Branson. "I apologise, we were just admiring the, err, auto." Thomas finished, rather unconvincingly. Jimmy ripped off the goggles and threw them into the back seat.  
  
"I'm sure that wasn't the only thing you were... _admiring_ ," Branson said, his Irish lilt making him sound permanently cocky. He walked over to the car and opened the door for Thomas and Jimmy to slide out. Jimmy kept throwing looks at Thomas, as if he expected Thomas to magic Branson away somehow.  
  
"It wasn't Jimmy's fault," Thomas said, deciding he might as well fall on his sword sooner rather than later. "Please," he grimaced at having to beg Branson, of all people, "don't report him."  
  
"No," Jimmy said defiantly. Thomas shook his head but Jimmy ploughed on regardless. "It was my idea, the car and _that_ ; I won't see Mr Barrow in trouble for it."  
  
"Well," Branson shook his head, seemingly more bemused than shocked by the whole debacle. "I've no right to judge how people conduct their romances, not with my sorry tale, so I'll say nothing. Long as I don't catch you at it in my auto again, mind." Jimmy and Thomas both nodded seriously as Branson climbed behind the wheel. "I can't say I'm overly surprised. But you ought to be more careful - not everyone around here's as liberal as I am." Thomas and Jimmy watched, dumbstruck, as Branson drove off towards the village.  
  
"You think he'll say anythin'?" Jimmy looked relieved but kept sweeping his hair back distractedly.  
  
"No, I think we're safe," Thomas sighed, "and we have the late Lady Sybil to thank for that. But he's right; we ought to be more careful. What if it had been Alfred or Carson? Or one of the Ladies? Maybe we should cancel our little outing to York."  
  
"Why?" Jimmy frowned, "I weren't planning on throwing you down in the middle of the market and taking you."  
  
"I know that," Thomas shook his head, "but maybe we shouldn't make such a show of being friends."  
  
"What's the point of being anything if we never get any time together?" Jimmy pouted. "I've barely seen you these past two weeks; an hour here and there and a fumble before bed isn't exactly the stuff of dreams."  
  
"It's never going to be easy, Jimmy. We're lucky to have the little we do have, to live under the same roof. It's all worth it for you though," Thomas soothed, smoothing out Jimmy's livery, "you're the best thing that's ever happened to me. We have to be careful; I'm afraid I'll lose you."  
  
"And I'm afraid I'll never really _have_ you," Jimmy said, crestfallen.  
  
"You already have my heart," Thomas replied, his voice small. _Stop it,_ he thought _, you know he doesn't go in for that soppy stuff._ Jimmy looked a little taken aback, then his face smoothed into a wide smile.  
  
"We should get back," Jimmy shook his head, still grinning, "before that old witch O'Brien notices we're gone. Or Carson decides to give me yet another dressing down by comparing me unfavourably to Alfred."  
  
"You know you'd fare much better if you at least gave the impression of working," Thomas shrugged and Jimmy punched him lightly on the arm  
  
"I know that's your speciality, Mr Barrow."  
  
~  
  
True to his word, Branson said nothing of what he had witnessed. Thomas could scarcely believe it when Jimmy and he made for York, together, on Friday lunch time – he was expecting something to ruin their plan, or for someone to come running after them, eager to join their party. The last thing they needed was some dozy housemaid gazing at Jimmy all afternoon.

“This is grand,” Jimmy grinned, swinging his umbrella. His grey three-piece suit clung to the curves of his arms and shoulders, flexing appealingly over his back as he twirled the umbrella in a circle. He kicked a pile of autumn leaves, sending them cascading over the road, crunching them under his shoes. Thomas smiled at Jimmy’s youthful exuberance, at how happy he seemed to be, and Thomas couldn’t help but absorb the warmth and light that radiated from Jimmy.

“It is my dear,” Thomas replied, “it’s grand indeed.”

They chatted about nothing and everything on the way to the train station. Jimmy talked at length about his favourite films and which shows he wanted to take Thomas to see in London, should they ever get the chance. Thomas listened; he’d never been the greatest conversationalist and if it were anyone else he wouldn’t care less if they thought Valentino was the best actor of their generation. But when Jimmy talked so animatedly, Thomas thought he could listen to him reading cricket scores and still be enthralled.

They bought two third-class tickets to York and waited on the platform for the slightly-overdue train. Jimmy rocked on the balls of his feet, obviously excited, and kept adjusting his cap.

“You look like a lord on a day out compared to me,” Jimmy said, apropos of nothing. He artfully lifted Thomas’s trilby from his head and plopped it on his own before Thomas could resist. It was too big, almost covering Jimmy’s eyes – he peered out from under the brim, grinning.

“It’s like going on a daytrip with a child who’s had too much sugar,” Thomas sighed, recovering his hat.

“I shouldn’t have eaten all those sweets on the way here,” Jimmy replied, then, lowering his voice, he added: “although I bet I taste just like pear drops now, Mr Barrow.” He licked his lips and Thomas felt the pull of desire low in his stomach.

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to investigate that claim later,” he replied.

The distant whistle and plume of white smoke signalled the arrival of the locomotive. Jimmy and Thomas found their seats in third; Jimmy took the window seat without asking and Thomas sat beside him, their thighs pressed together. Thomas had learned that Jimmy found it impossible to sit still; either his knees were bouncing up and down or he would ring his hands or tap out some unknown tune on a table top. Even when he was asleep he was a terrible fidget. Now was no exception – he was gazing out of the window, drumming his fingers on his knees. Thomas wanted to grab his hand and hold it between his own, just to still him for a while.

“Why are you so excited?” Thomas asked, “You’ve been to York enough times before.”

“I know,” Jimmy said, “but not with you. And…well, t’was goin’ to be a surprise but I might explode if I keep it to myself. I’ve booked a room at a,” - he winked comically - “‘discreet’ inn for this afternoon.”

“Jimmy,” Thomas started, ready to expound all the reasons why it was a bad and dangerous idea, but Jimmy pressed a finger roughly against Thomas’s lips, shushing him.

“There’s something I want to do that we’ve never done before,” Jimmy’s eyes were dark, his voice low. “We need proper bed and door with a lock. I want you Thomas. I want all of you.”

Thomas’s mouth dropped open and he nodded: “How could I possibly resist that offer?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, you'll read all about York in the next chapter ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> York becomes Jimmy's new favourite place.
> 
> Danger, this is PORN guys. Srsly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm changing the rating of this fic to explicit due to this chapter. Enjoy!

York had never seemed so exciting to Jimmy – the usually drab cobbled streets seemed made over; every window was a cavern of wonders, every café a possible gastronomic delight. Thomas was quiet, but he smiled and nodded and watched Jimmy’s antics approvingly. They had lunch in a bustling pub, their knees pressed together under the table. Thomas seemed to relax after a couple of pints, his hand finding Jimmy’s arm, and they chatted easily over their drinks. Jimmy couldn’t remember a time in his adult life when he’d felt more contented and happy.

“Jimmy,” Thomas asked later, as they walked along the river, “are you…sure about us?”

“Course I am,” Jimmy nodded, “I thought I’d made that clear.”

“I know you want to be with me,” Thomas replied softly, “I just don’t know if you’ve considered the implications of our sort of life.”

“Whaddya mean?” Jimmy frowned. A happy young couple passed them on the riverbank, arm in arm, giggling conspiratorially.

“We can never be like _that_ ,” Thomas stated, “people can’t know about us – we’d be risking prison if they did.”

“I know that Thomas, I know it’ll be difficult.”

“We can’t get married, we can’t even spend the night together without sneaking around,” Thomas sighed. “We can’t have children – have you ever thought of that?”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Jimmy whimpered, his bottom lip trembling. “Don’t you want me anymore?” He couldn’t understand why Thomas was determined to spoil their day together.

“Of course I do,” Thomas said, patting Jimmy’s arm. “I just want you to be sure. I don’t want you to wake up in five years and regret not having a normal life. I want you to be happy Jimmy, even if that means I have to let you go.” He looked away, unable to hide the pained look on his face.

Jimmy stopped, his hands grasping Thomas’s shoulders. “Thomas, I love you. _You_ are my happiness. I’d give up all those things without a second thought, if I get to spend my life with you.”

“Oh Jimmy,” Thomas started, beaming, “you’ve made a foolish, lonely man very happy.”

“Come on,” Jimmy grinned, “let’s to go the inn and I’ll make you even happier.” He winked comically and Thomas couldn’t help but laugh.

The inn was located in a ‘discrete’ location on the cheap side of town, nestled between a dreary tenement building and what Jimmy could only imagine was a brothel.

“Lovely place Jimmy,” Thomas smirked, his eyebrows raised as he studied the dowdy frontage of the inn.

“It’s all I could afford; being a footman don’t exactly pay well,” he pouted, “an’ anyway, we needed somewhere that wouldn’t ask awkward questions.” He led Thomas into the dusty reception of the inn – a handsome young man in shirtsleeves sat behind a little desk, a newspaper in his hands.

“Cannae help ya?” he said in a thick northern accent.

“I’ve got a room booked,” Jimmy said, pulling out his billfold, “under name of Nugent.” Thomas chuckled.

“Oh aye,” the man said, accepting the money Jimmy offered to him, “you’re in the ‘suite’.” He grinned and handed Jimmy a key. “It’s yours till eight, y’can leave key on the desk when you’re _finished_.” He wagged his eyebrows suggestively and smirked. Jimmy blushed and turned for the stairs.

Their ‘suite’ was on the top floor – the wallpaper was peeling and the view was completely obscured by the side of the tenement building, but there was a big double bed with dusky pink sheets and questionable pillows, and that was all Jimmy cared about. He shrugged off his jacket and flopped onto the bed, grinning.

“It’ll be nice not to be squished together in a tiny cot for a change,” Jimmy said, studying a worrying stain on the ceiling.

“It will,” Thomas replied. He removed his own jacket and sat down beside Jimmy, letting his fingers trail up Jimmy’s inner thigh.

“Ha,” Jimmy guffawed, twisting away, “tickles!” Thomas pounced on Jimmy, tickling his stomach, chest and arms until Jimmy was a giggling, red-faced mess. “S’not fair,” he gasped, his head on Thomas’s lap, “you’re not ticklish.”

Thomas pushed Jimmy’s now-unkempt hair from his face, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful, silly footman. “I love you Jimmy,” he said, “so much it just overcomes me sometimes.” Jimmy leant up, exposing his long, golden neck, and kissed Thomas until his lips were dark red and bruised.

“Love you too, Mr Barrow,” he smiled. Thomas gently undid the buttons on Jimmy’s waistcoat and shirt, and then removed his clothes with the deft hands of an ex-valet. Jimmy just grinned and allowed himself to be undressed, deliberately gasping and sighing obscenely whenever Thomas’s hands brushed against bare skin. By the time the undressing had finished and Jimmy was lying naked on the pink sheets, Thomas’s cock was hard and straining against the inside of his underwear. He trailed feather-soft kisses down Jimmy’s body, from the spot just below his left ear, across his chest and the tight muscles of his abdomen, to the inside of his right thigh. Jimmy’s prick bobbed in approval as Thomas let his tongue slide languidly along the length of his hard-on.

“Oh, Thomas,” Jimmy stuttered, pulling Thomas to him for a desperate kiss. His fingers worked intently at Thomas’s belt and buttons, loosening his clothes, but his hands were shaking. Thomas smiled and took over; his clothes were in a crumpled heap on the floor within seconds. Jimmy always thought how glorious and manly Thomas looked when he was nude – the thickness of his stomach and chest, the broadness of his shoulders, the obvious strength in the curve of his arms all a testament to the atypical masculinity of Thomas Barrow. Thomas caught Jimmy staring at his naked form and blushed; time (and Mrs Patmore’s cooking) hadn’t been kind to him and he was a little podgier around the middle than he’d have liked. He felt positively old and weathered compared to the fit young body that Jimmy was displaying so provocatively beneath him. He sat up and wrapped his arms around his chest self-consciously.

“Don’t do that,” Jimmy said, sitting up and straddling Thomas’s lap, “I know what you’re thinking and you can stop it right now, Mr Barrow.” He ground his crotch against Thomas’s for good measure, gasping wantonly when their cocks brushed together. “You are,” Jimmy pressed a kiss against Thomas’s throat, “so stunning,” he paused and kissed Thomas’s jaw. “You make me want to come,” he grinned and teased Thomas’s lips with his teeth, “just from lookin’ at ya.”

“Jimmy,” Thomas moaned, his hands cupping the firm flesh of Jimmy’s arse. Jimmy reached between them and grasped their shafts together, rubbing the slickness from the end of Thomas’s prick over himself. Thomas shuddered, his fingers digging into Jimmy’s behind.

“I want you,” Jimmy breathed against his neck, “I want to feel you come right inside me.”

Thomas pulled back, his grey eyes unsure. “Jimmy, we don’t have to do that. Not ever if you don’t want it.”

“But I do want it,” Jimmy nodded, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anythin’ so bad in all my life.”

“It’ll hurt a little,” Thomas rubbed his thumbs in small circles at the base of Jimmy’s back. “I’ll be gentle but it’ll still be…uncomfortable.”

“S’alright, I trust you,” Jimmy hopped off Thomas’s lap and fished around in his jacket pocket, pulling out a small jar of petrol jelly. “I, err, heard this is _useful_?” He looked so unabashed, standing naked with his cock leaking and brandishing the petrol jelly that Thomas couldn’t help but laugh.

“Oi,” Jimmy grinned, throwing the jar at Thomas. He caught in in one hand and rolled the cold glass between his palms. Jimmy dove back onto the bed, arranging himself on his hands and knees, his arse waggling unashamedly in the air.

“Jesus Jimmy,” Thomas laughed, “I can’t just…stick it in you.”

Jimmy peered coquettishly over his shoulder. “Well I don’t know do I?”

“Turn over,” Thomas shook his head; Jimmy pouted but acquiesced. Thomas slicked his index and middle fingers with the petrol jelly and slid them along the crack of Jimmy’s arse.

“Hnngngff,” Jimmy writhed, his cock twitching, “what’re you doin’?”

“I have to prepare you first, so I’m going to put my fingers in,”

“Ok,” Jimmy cut him off. “Just do it, don’t…discuss it. An’ if you ever tell anyone about this I’ll bloody kill you, right?”

“You’re such a romantic,” Thomas smirked, sliding his index finger slowly into Jimmy’s tight arse. Jimmy’s mouth dropped open, a moan of pleasure escaping his lips. “Alright?” Thomas asked, working his finger to stretch Jimmy’s tight muscles.

“Uh-huh,” Jimmy managed, squirming against Thomas’s hand. Thomas carefully introduced a second finger, an inch at a time. He curled and scissored his fingers inside Jimmy, eliciting scandalous noises from him every time his fingers brushed that sweet spot.

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Jimmy moaned, “Thomas, more, I – more, please.” It didn’t hurt as much as he’d expected and any initial pain had been overwhelmed by sheer pleasure. He imagined Thomas’s cock thrusting into him and his own prick throbbed, rock hard against his stomach. “I’m ready, _please_.”

“Ok,” Thomas replied – his eyes were dark and hungry as he lubricated his hard-on with petrol jelly and pressed the head at the entrance of Jimmy’s arse. He grunted and pushed his cock slowly into Jimmy, the tightness unbearably good.

“Ouch, ow,” Jimmy choked, his throat tight. The burning in his arse was intense and bought tears to his eyes, despite all of Thomas’s preparations.

Thomas reached up and took Jimmy’s hand, his eyes full of concern. “I’ll stop; I don’t want to hurt you Jimmy.”

“No, don’t stop, I can do this – I – I want to,” Jimmy gulped. “Keep going – slowly.”

Thomas nodded and kissed Jimmy’s fingers, before slowly inching his member into Jimmy; once Thomas was fully seated within him Jimmy found the burning and stretching gave way to indescribable pleasure. Thomas slowly rocked his hips, gently thrusting into Jimmy’s hot tightness.

“Thomas, oh, oh, _god_ ,” Jimmy cried lasciviously, his cock leaking onto his stomach.

“Jimmy,” Thomas panted, his cheeks red. He took Jimmy’s hard-on in hand, working the head with a loose fist, timing the pumping of Jimmy’s cock with the driving of his own erection into Jimmy’s arse. Jimmy felt himself coming undone, his hands balled in the sheets, his back arching up off the bed. He wrapped his thighs around Thomas’s waist, pulling the under-butler deeper into himself.

“I can’t Thomas, my _Thomas_ , I’m going to…” he trailed off, his body stiffening, every muscle contracting as his orgasm washed over him and he came into Thomas’s hand. The sight of Jimmy writhing and mewling lewdly, and the sensation of being seated so deeply inside him, was too much; Thomas’s vision blacked for a moment as he pounded into Jimmy twice more before reaching his own desperate climax and crying out, his head thrown back.

When his vision returned and his breathing slowed, Thomas managed to gather enough energy to pull his shrinking cock out of Jimmy with a wet squelch and flop down next to him on the bed, utterly spent. Jimmy rolled over and wrapped his arms around Thomas’s chest, resting his head in the crook of Thomas’s neck. He kissed Thomas’s throat and caressed his cheek.

“That was,” Jimmy paused, his lips pursed, “beautiful.” He finished. “I can’t believe I’ve never done that before. Next time I get to do it to you, ok?”

“If you like,” Thomas reached for his trousers, fishing out his cigarettes and lighter. Truthfully, he never much liked being on the receiving end, but he had a feeling things would be different with Jimmy. And he’d do just about anything for his precious boy. He lit two cigs and passed one to Jimmy, who accepted it with a grin.

“Well,” Jimmy said, blowing a cloud of smoke into the room, “I think York is my new favourite place.

~

Thomas and Jimmy had lain, side by side, talking and laughing and just _kissing_ for as long as they could; but too soon it was time to head back to Downton. As they stepped out into the grey, rainy evening Jimmy smirked, opening his umbrella over their heads.

“Told you it were going to rain,” he announced smugly. His hair was dishevelled and the buttons on his waistcoat hadn’t been matched up to the correct holes.

“You look like someone just gave you a good seeing to,” Thomas smiled, straightening Jimmy’s tie for him. Jimmy gazed back at him fondly, still in a post-coital daze.

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Jimmy raised his eyebrows when Thomas looked at him quizzically. “I think we’re going to have to do that a lot more before I can pass judgment. A _lot_ more.” Thomas laughed heartily, in the way that made Jimmy’s chest ache and his heart swell. Noting they were alone, he risked planting a chaste peck on Thomas’s lips. Thomas smiled against his mouth, before taking Jimmy’s arm and leading him off towards the train station.

Unbeknownst to Thomas and Jimmy, a black-clad Sarah O’Brien watched them from the street corner.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” she said, lowering her umbrella, a self-satisfied smirk on her face. “Very, very interesting.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> O'Brien makes her move, Mary confides in Thomas, and Jimmy finds himself in trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of Edward Courtenay's suicide.

Jimmy made a bet with himself as to how long it would take for something to ruin his good mood. To be fair, his happiness lasted longer than he’d expected – the evening after the trip to York passed pleasantly enough and Jimmy found himself cheerily working through the next morning with an uncharacteristically earnest grin on his face. Even Alfred’s bumbling and Mrs Patmore’s well-meant scolding couldn’t take the edge off the warmth in his chest and the spring in his step. And then there was the extra joy that was imparted by the knowing, furtive glances that Thomas cast his way, his own face brightened by a telling smile. Jimmy felt that for once nothing could ruin his happiness.

Jimmy should have known better than to be so optimistic.

It was after lunch, when Jimmy was summoned to Mr Carson’s office by a shrugging and confused-looking Alfred, that Jimmy reasoned his happy spell was about to be crushed.

“Ah, James, come in,” Carson directed when Jimmy knocked and popped his head around the slightly ajar door of Carson's pantry.

“You wanted to see me Mr Carson?” Jimmy said lightly, aiming to give the impression of innocence. For the life of him he couldn’t think what he’d done wrong this time, although Carson hardly needed a reason to rant at and deride the first footman; he obviously held Jimmy in low regard.

“Yes – close the door and,” he paused, his heavy brow furrowed, “you better sit down James.”

Jimmy’s face screwed up in concern – this sounded awfully serious. He did as he was bid and waited for Carson to verbally knock him down a peg or two.

“A very serious matter has been bought to my attention,” Carson started, giving Jimmy a stern and studious look, “and I’m afraid the nature of it means I am forced into action.” Carson paced behind his desk, seemingly searching for the right words. “You were observed, yesterday, coming out of a 'house of ill-repute' whilst you were in York,” – Jimmy opened his mouth to argue but Carson held up a silencing hand, “You were seen by a reliable source so to speak, by someone who would have no reason to lie about this, so there is no use denying it.”

“Who saw me?” Jimmy asked, both angry and frightened by the direction the conversation was taking. It was only after he’d uttered the words that he realised he’d unwittingly implicated himself.

“That is not the point James,” Carson roared, his calm demeanour slipping. “I can only imagine, and I am wholly reticent to do so, what a young man like yourself would be doing in such a place.”

“I was on my half-day,” Jimmy folded his arms, “I don’t see how what I do is your business.”

“It is my business if any member of staff brings **dishonour** and **scandal** to Downton!” Carson shouted. “Imagine if this got back to His Lordship or if one of the ladies had seen you? Do you think they would look so lightly on such an indiscretion?”

Jimmy shook his head and swallowed hard. “No Mr Carson.”

“Indeed. However, there is one part of this story I cannot reconcile. I believed you had travelled to York with Mr Barrow,” Carson paused and Jimmy’s head shot up at the mention of the under-butler, “so I must ask you a question James; was Mr Barrow with you when you visited this - this den of iniquity?”

Jimmy was about to answer truthfully but he hesitated to consider the implications of his reply. “No,” Jimmy lied, “we went to York together but we split up – Mr Barrow weren't with me then.”

Carson nodded, ostensibly happy with Jimmy’s response or else disinclined to push any further. “Then it is you and you alone who shall receive discipline. I am afraid I have no choice but to relieve you from your duties here at Downton. You will receive one month’s pay in lieu of notice and I will write you a satisfactory reference; your work has been acceptable, even if your personal conduct has _not_.”

“I – no, please,” Jimmy started, but Carson was adamant.

“I am sorry James, but you bought this on yourself.” Carson shook his head. “I would like you to leave as soon as possible and without causing any further embarrassment. I will have a reference ready for you before dinner.”

And with that Carson exited the office, leaving Jimmy alone with his disbelief.

~

As the hours ticked by Thomas found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his work; standing idle at one side of the library whilst Lady Mary sat, silent and stony-faced, with an untouched tea tray beside her was hardly thrilling work at the best of times. But since Jimmy had given himself to Thomas, in both heart and body, Thomas found anything except the footman to be utterly tedious. His mind wandered to thoughts of Jimmy’s golden hair and tanned skin, to the taste of his lips and the tight lines of his young body. Thomas had memorised them all, the curve of Jimmy’s thighs and the exact shade of his eyes, but the image he held in his mind was still nothing to the reality; it was like comparing a photograph to the real thing – one flat, unmoving, intangible – the other so alive and warm and beautiful.

“Barrow,” Mary said suddenly, her voice emotionless.

“Yes milady?” Thomas replied, snapping to attention.

“Have you ever…” Mary paused, distracted by a bird trilling in the tree outside the library window, “have you ever lost someone?”

Thomas blinked, shocked at the question. “Yes milady,” he replied honestly.

“Who?” Mary asked, turning on the chaise so as to get a better look at the under-butler. “Was it someone you loved?”

“Well, uh,” Thomas faltered; undoubtedly Mary knew of his _proclivities_ , but it was better to err on the side of caution regarding his choice of pronouns. “Yes, it was milady. Someone I cared a great deal about.”

“Tell me,” Mary picked up her teacup and sipped at the lukewarm liquid, “what happened to them?”

Thomas was loathe to speak about the Lieutenant to anyone, his feelings on the matter less so. And the situation wasn’t exactly proper; it wasn’t the norm for ladies of high birth to chat cosily with the staff. Thomas hunted for an excuse, for a way out of this awkward and dangerous conversation, but the pleading look in the eyes of the grieving widow softened his heart and he acquiesced. “I met someone during the war, when I was working at the hospital,” Thomas started and Mary nodded along, as if encouraging Thomas to continue. “They had been blinded and – well they were finding it difficult to cope, which is understandable. They – they ended up taking their own life.” Thomas finished, hoping Mary wouldn’t push for any more details; it was too painful, even now, to think of Edward taking a razor to his wrists out of desperation.

“I’m sorry,” Mary replied, a tear rolling down one cheek. Mary’s usually porcelain skin had taken on a more ethereal quality of late and had become almost translucent. It was no surprise really; she never ventured out of the Abbey these days, choosing to sit silently in her room or listlessly wander the corridors and unused rooms of Downton. “I had no idea Barrow.”

Thomas said “Thank you milady,” when he really wanted to tell her to shut up. He wondered if she thought it were only the upstairs lot who suffered; he supposed to her all the staff were just paper dolls arranged for her convenience, with no loves or lives or losses of their own. No, that wasn’t fair – some staff, it seemed, did register in the sphere of the aristocracy, but only those willing to grovel and grope and fawn, like Bates or Carson. Thomas was struck then, of course, by the fact that Lord Grantham had defended and protected Thomas over the scandal of his sexuality, but even that had been more about protecting the family’s reputation.

“You know then, do you not?” Mary let her teacup fall back on the tray with a clatter, tea spilling and making spots on the carpet. “You know how it feels to be empty and wasted and black and cold inside like you will never be whole ever again?” She fixed Thomas with such a desperate look that he lost his composure for a moment.

“I do milady,” Thomas said genuinely, “I know it well.”

“Then tell me, Thomas,” Mary was crying now, silent tears wetting her cheeks, “does it get better?”

“No,” Thomas said, “not better. You just learn to live with it. It’s always there, inside and waiting to claim you. The only way to defeat it is to keep living, to find other things to live for.”

Mary stood, her body visibly trembling, and grasped Thomas’s arm. “I cannot. I cannot keep living.”

“With all due respect milady,” Thomas held Mary firmly, afraid she would fall if he didn’t, “you can. I’ve been here a long time and I know you – you don’t give up. Lady Edith, maybe, but not you.” Mary smiled at that, albeit thinly, and nodded. “Would you like me to call Anna or…” Thomas started but Mary shook her head.

“No, Barrow,” she released her grip on his arm. “I can manage. I think I’ll go for a lie down now.”

“Very good, milady.” Mary waited as Thomas opened the library door for her to exit; she made it halfway across the entrance hall before pausing and calling back to Thomas.

“Barrow,” she said, her voice low, “what was his name?”

“Edward Courtenay, milady,” Thomas replied, knowing there was no use in denying he had, in fact, been talking about a man.

“And what did you find to live for?”

“Love, milady,” Thomas said. Mary smiled then with earnest, and left for her bedroom.

~

Thomas pounded up the servants’ staircase, his eyes hunting the rooms and corridors for any sign of Jimmy; he hadn’t seen him since breakfast and he was itching to tell him what had transpired between Lady Mary and himself in the library. When he reached Jimmy’s bedroom, he found the door half-open and the room in disarray – there was an open case on the bed with shirts and socks stuffed into it haphazardly and a drawer had been ripped from the dresser and thrown onto the floor. Jimmy was sitting on the floor amidst the chaos, his face pale and his hair dishevelled.

“Jimmy,” Thomas hissed, closing the door behind him, “whatever is going on?”

“You haven’t heard then?” Jimmy answered, his bottom lip trembling.

“No – what?” Thomas knelt down amongst Jimmy’s clothes and took Jimmy’s hand. “You’re scaring me Jimmy, what’s wrong?”

“I’ve been sacked, that’s what,” Jimmy said, his voice breaking alongside Thomas’s heart.

“No,” Thomas shook his head, “no, that _can’t_ be right. What’s happened?”

“Someone saw us – in York, going into that place – they saw us an' they’ve told Carson the whole ruddy story,” Jimmy spat.

“What? Who? I – what about me?” Thomas said. “If that were the case they’d have fired me too, wouldn’t they? You must have it wrong.”

“No,” Jimmy said, “Carson only knew about me an’ I never told him any different. You’re safe – an’ I’m glad of that,” Jimmy wrapped an arm around Thomas’s waist, pulling the under-butler down into a rough hug. “But I’m for the chop and that’s no mistake. I’m to ‘leave as soon as possible,’” Jimmy mimicked in his best ‘Carson’ voice.

“No, no, no,” Thomas pressed his forehead against Jimmy’s. “This – this isn’t fair. Who would do this to us – who would,” Thomas stopped, his heart sinking. “O’Brien,” Thomas grimaced, “that witch, I swear to god I’ll have her strung up, the hag!”

“O’Brien?” Jimmy frowned. “She’s hateful enough, that’s true. But I thought you had something over her?”

“I do,” Thomas replied, “and I’m going to Carson with it this instant.”

“Thomas, wait,” Jimmy said, pulling on Thomas’s livery. “You – you can’t. If you try anything then O’Brien is bound to add in the details of the story she missed in her first telling. Y’know, that you and I went _together_ to that place? _Together_. Regardless of what you say about her, we’ll both be out on our ears if they find out about us, likely with no reference.”

“Oh – that bitch,” Thomas sat back amongst the ruin of Jimmy’s room, defeated. “I’m sorry Jimmy, I don’t know what to do.”

“Help me pack?” Jimmy tried to smile, but he couldn’t fake it, not even for Thomas’s sake. The job climate after the war had changed radically and positions in service were becoming scarcer by the day. Jimmy had no money and little in the way of possessions; his situation was dire.

“Don’t joke about this Jimmy,” Thomas sighed, sticking a cigarette between his downturned lips.

“I’m not joking,” Jimmy said, dumping a pile of toiletries into his valise. “It’s better I go without a fuss and you keep your job – you won’t be doing me any favours by following me into the gutter.”

“I’ll look after you Jimmy,” Thomas shuffled across the floor and sat beside the ex-footman. They linked hands, both men fighting back tears. “I won’t see you hungry or homeless, not while I still have a penny to my name.”

“You know what?” Jimmy plucked the cigarette from Thomas’s mouth and stuck it in his own. “It was worth it. It was worth every second – I got to be with you and that’s worth more than any stupid job in any la-de-da house in the whole of bloody England.” Jimmy stuck his chin out defiantly and Thomas smiled at the sentiment.

“That as it may be,” Thomas said, “but I’m – I’m going to miss you, Jimmy Kent.”

“Wha?” Jimmy pouted, “You’re not throwing me over now as well are ya?”

“Of course not you clot. But we won’t be able to see each other every day now, will we?” Thomas stole back his cigarette and inhaled deeply. “What if you’re next job is in Thirsk, or Ripon, or York? Or London?” Thomas exhaled, his face concealed by a plume of grey smoke. “You’ll have to go where the work is.”

“Then I’ll work in a shop. Or on a farm. Or even in the bloody pub,” Jimmy shrugged. “Don’t care – I’m not leaving the village. I’m not leaving you.”

Thomas nodded tersely – he didn’t have the heart to tell Jimmy he wasn’t qualified for or experienced in any of those things. “We’ll figure something out my love,” Thomas said, drawing Jimmy into his arms, “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was a long time coming, I'm sorry!
> 
> This is turning into an epic undertaking...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas works to get Jimmy reinstated at Downton, but who can he turn to for help?

A week had passed since Jimmy’s abrupt dismissal from Downton and it was still the hot topic amongst the downstairs staff.

“What d’ya think he did then, t’get fired?” Ivy asked unwittingly, not knowing that Thomas was lurking in the corridor and well within hearing range.

“I dunno,” Daisy replied, “it must’ve been bad though.”

“One of the maids said it were something to do with a _lover_ ,” Ivy said, “d’ya think it’s true?”

“That’s not something the likes of you two should be speculating about!” the under-butler raged, storming into the kitchen. “I thought you two were Jimmy’s friends, but obviously not if you’re so eager to gossip about him. Maybe you don’t have enough work to do, if you’ve time for idle chit-chat?” he fumed, his face red with anger. Ivy shrank back, visibly shaken by Thomas’s outburst.

“Mr Barrow,” Mrs Patmore intervened, “they didn’t mean nothin’ by it, I’m sure.”

“No, they don’t have enough brains between ‘em to mean anything by it,” Thomas spat - since Jimmy had left Thomas had become more mean-spirited and tetchy than ever. He shook his head, still angry but lacking the conviction needed to continue his tirade. “Just – just keep your ill-conceived opinions to yourselves next time,” he finished.

“Can I have a word Mr Barrow?” Mrs Patmore asked – her expression suggested it was not a request. Thomas nodded curtly. “In private,” Patmore said, throwing Daisy and Ivy a pointed glare; the assistant cook and kitchen maid scurried away, obviously relieved to be rescued from Thomas’s wrath.

“What is it Mrs Patmore?” Thomas sighed, rubbing his temple – worry had caused him to develop a perpetual headache.

“Now don’t bite me head off or nuthin’,” the cook said, her ruddy face full of concern, “but y’don’t seem yerself.”

“I – I’m fine Mrs Patmore,” Thomas clenched his jaw – he must have really been off kilter for Mrs Patmore to notice.

“So that outburst didn’t have anythin’ to do with the unceremonious disappearance of our first footman?” Mrs Patmore fixed Thomas with a knowing look.

“We were friends,” Thomas sighed, “of course I’m bothered that he’s gone.” _And it was my fault, really_ , he thought.

“I’ll tell y’what I think,” Mrs Patmore said – Thomas reasoned that he didn’t have a choice in whether he wanted to hear it or not. “Not long ago Jimmy started cryin’ in me kitchen – he was awful distressed over summat, though he were cagey about _what_. What ‘e did tell me was how yer took that beatin’ at Thirsk for _him_.”

“I – well – I didn’t know he’d told anyone that,” Thomas said, genuinely surprised – Jimmy hadn’t mentioned it to him.

“Seemed he felt guilty ‘bout how he’d treated yer, Mr Barrow,” the cook shrugged, “an’ I know s’not any of my business, but seemed to me that he were quite _fond_ of yer – in the same way you used to be fond of him, if you get me meanin’.”

“I don’t see how anyone could fail to get your meaning,” Thomas snapped. He had suspected Mrs Patmore knew about his inclinations but he hadn’t considered that people might have caught on about _Jimmy_.

“S’alright Mr Barrow,” Mrs Patmore smiled, “no need to get all defensive. I were just sayin’ it would explain a lot, if you an’ Jimmy were…close.”

“I – I,” Thomas grimaced – he didn’t want to talk about his problems, especially not to Mrs Patmore of all people - but the weight of it all was bearing heavily upon his shoulders. “Yes,” he admitted, “we were very _close_.”

“Mmm,” Mrs Patmore nodded, “an’ you miss ‘im?”

“More than I know how to deal with,” Thomas confessed.

“Now I dunno the particulars of his bein’ sacked,” the cook said, “but isn’t there summat you can do about it?”

“Maybe…” Thomas’s mouth dropped open as a sudden realisation dawned upon him. Whilst Carson was unmoving on his decision, Thomas supposed could go over his head, if he had the _right_ _person_ to appeal to.

And he knew exactly who he could get on his side.

“Thank you Mrs Patmore,” Thomas smiled, overcome with a sudden desire to kiss the cook, “you’ve been very helpful.”

 

* * *

 

Thomas found Lady Mary strolling through the gardens pushing little Master George in his pram; she looked just like a vision from a ghost story, wandering listlessly about the grounds dressed in wispy black layers, her face pallid and ethereal.

“Milady,” Thomas called, jogging to catch up with the widow.

“Barrow?” she frowned, “is something wrong?”

“No milady, I was just wondering if I could have a moment of your time?

“Of course,” Mary replied. They walked alongside each other for a moment and Thomas peeked into the pram – George was fast asleep, snuggled under a thick cosy blanket.

“The little master looks well,” Thomas said, stalling. He’d rushed out to find Lady Mary before he’d fully decided exactly how to present his case and now, with Mary’s questioning eyes upon him, he found he didn’t really know where to begin.

“Thank you Barrow,” Mary responded, “but I doubt you came all the way out here to comment on George’s health.”

“Well, no,” Thomas nodded tightly. “Are you aware that Jimmy – that is James, the footman, has been dismissed?”

“Oh,” Mary said flatly, “I’m afraid I wasn’t aware, no. Although I must admit, I’m oblivious to a great many things these days.”

“Mr Carson relieved him of his duties a week ago and – well if I can speak frankly milady, I don’t think it was at all just,” Thomas said.

“Really?” Mary looked intrigued. “And why do you think that?”

“Because he were fired over something – an allegation – that wasn’t entirely true,” Thomas halted, “but I’m not sure how to explain it to you without shocking you, milady.”

“Oh _please_ ,” Mary rolled her eyes, “I’m beyond being shocked, all I’ve been through.”

“Then I’ll out with it,” Thomas braced himself – he was taking a great risk. “Someone on the staff has accused Jimmy of,” Thomas coughed, “cavorting with _prostitutes_.”

“My my,” Mary raised her eyebrows.

“But it’s not true,” Thomas shook his head. “He was in a, ahem, unsavoury location, but he was meeting his – his _sweetheart_.”

“Oh, well, then why didn’t he tell Carson that? Whilst it’s not exactly appropriate behaviour, I don’t think he’d have been cast out over it,” Mary said. “Many people do unwise things for love – or passion.” Thomas wondered if Mary was recalling her own run-in with a certain Turkish ambassador.

“Because he was protecting his lover,” Thomas said, “and it’s – it’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Do go on,” she nodded.

“You see – ah – his sweetheart is, well, it’s _me_ ,” Thomas looked ahead, unable to meet Mary’s eyes. “I was with him in that place, not some woman of the night. Because I – I love him milady, and – well – he loves me too, I think. We’re sort of – err - _courting_.”

“Oh,” Mary said – she didn’t seem all that surprised. “Well I knew about you Barrow, but I thought James was rather a ladies man, from what Anna tells me.”

“It’s not exactly something we can go around broadcasting,” Thomas shrugged, “unless we fancy a spell in prison.”

“I suppose not,” Mary stopped and faced Thomas, bouncing the pram with one gloved hand. “And I understand why you didn’t tell Carson about this. But I’m not sure what you want from me.”

“You remember when I told you about the blind soldier, the one who took his life?” Thomas asked.

“Yes,” Mary nodded, “what of it?”

“Then you remember what I said, about finding something else to live for – about finding love?” Thomas swallowed hard and stared at his feet – he wasn’t used to talking so openly about his feelings to anyone, let alone one of the upstairs lot.

“Ah, I see – it was James you were speaking of then?”

“Yes. He – he saved me from myself, you see,” Thomas added. “I – I’m rather a dark sort, milady. I think too much and I’m too often lost in maudlin reveries. I – I’ve never had a place in this world, or a person who loves me so completely, until now. Before Jimmy I only thought about how awful life was and how worthless _I_ was. Then he arrived and even – even when we didn’t get along – I had someone else to care about; someone important and _good_ and it – it were worthwhile living again. And he’s turned me inside out, so to speak. I can see what’s good in life – and in myself – because I see it all reflected in him. I can’t – I can’t lose him. But there’s no work for him here and I can’t keep taking care of him and myself indefinitely. He’ll have to leave to find work and,” Thomas paused as his voice started to crack, “I either have to leave my job with nothing lined up so I can go with him, or let him leave without me. Neither are options I want to have to take. And O’Brien – she’s set herself against us, so desperate is she to hurt me. I – I couldn’t see a way out of it milady.” Thomas looked up to see Mary was crying silently; her jaw was set in a fierce expression and he was surprised at the strength of her reaction.

“I won’t let you be parted,” Mary said resolutely. “I lost the love of my life and I won’t see you go through the same if it can be so easily remedied. It took a lot of courage to come to me with this Barrow – I’m glad you felt you could.”

“It was a risk worth taking, milady,” Thomas nodded.

“I’ll speak to Carson myself,” Mary stated, “and I’ll deal with O’Brien.”

“What will you tell them?” Thomas could scarcely believe it – that the famously unmoved and severe Lady Mary would be speaking on his, and Jimmy’s, behalf.

“I’ll think of something,” Mary said dryly, “but don’t worry, I won’t reveal all your dark secrets. O’Brien will do as she’s told if she wants to continue her career as a lady’s maid and honestly, Carson won’t deny me such a request, even if he could. Not now – not when everyone is treading on eggshells around me.” 

“And how _are_ you milady?” Thomas asked with genuine interest.

“I’ve thought a good deal about what you said in the library,” Mary answered. “And – well, I’m still alive, aren’t it?”

 

* * *

 

 

Jimmy sat on the bed of his small, rented room and sighed dramatically. He’d been staying in the _Grantham Arms_ for a week, courtesy of Thomas, and he was bored; bored and increasingly lonely. He had tried reading or playing cards, but as fed up as he was, he just couldn’t focus on anything. He would never have thought it would be possible for him to miss his job, but he did, and badly too. He longed for all the things he used to complain about at Downton – he missed his room and his uniform and Alfred and Mrs Patmore and even ruddy _Ivy_. And, of course, he missed _Thomas_.

And he was tired too – the room and the bed were comfortable enough (if anything they were nicer than what Jimmy was used to) but Jimmy found it hard to sleep without Thomas in the same building. More than once he’d considered walking up to the Abbey and sneaking in to Thomas’s room in the middle of the night, just to be near him. When he did sleep, it was fitful and his mind was once again invaded by unpleasant dreams.

It was unbearable.

Jimmy shuffled his cards absentmindedly and sulked. He’d tried to find a job in the village, but to no avail – most places weren’t hiring, or if they were, they didn’t want an unqualified erstwhile footman as an employee. Jimmy was beginning to realise the reality of his situation – he’d have to move to Ripon, Thirsk or York if he wanted to work again anytime soon. Living off Thomas’s earnings for the foreseeable future was not an option he wanted to take up, but he was equally reticent to give up all hope of staying in Downton village. Moving to another town and being so far from Thomas would be intolerable. They’d just found each other and now, after everything, it seemed they were destined to be separated. Jimmy sighed again and silently bemoaned his lot.

Jimmy paced the room and considered going down to the pub for lunch, but he was halted by a short knock at his door and he dropped his cards in surprise.

“Jimmy, it’s me,” Thomas hissed from behind the door and Jimmy flew over to open it.

“Thomas,” he smiled, pulling the under-butler into his room and closing the door behind him. They kissed with the fervour of estranged lovers, although in reality it had only been two days since they’d seen each other. “What are y’doin’ here – not that I’m not happy to see you,” Jimmy said, burying his face in Thomas’s neck and inhaling the comforting smell of cologne, pomade and tobacco. “It’s not your half day, is it?”

“No it’s not,” Thomas smiled and carded his fingers through Jimmy’s golden hair – he seemed unseasonably cheerful but Jimmy supposed it was because he was here, with Jimmy’s arms around his waist.

“I missed you,” Jimmy said, leaning up to place soft kisses along Thomas’s jaw; Thomas sighed with pleasure and caught Jimmy’s mouth with his own, sliding his tongue past Jimmy’s lips. “Ah,” Jimmy purred against Thomas’s mouth, “so _that’s_ what you’re here for.”

“I’d _love_ to,” Thomas replied, “but alas, no. I’ve been sent by Carson – he’s asked to see you.”

“What?” Jimmy said apprehensively, “Why?”

“I don’t know exactly,” Thomas said with a shrug, “but I’ve got a fair idea. I think he’s going to give you your job back.”

“What?” Jimmy was thunderstruck – he didn’t know how it had happened, but he was sure Thomas was responsible for it. “But – I don’t understand?”

“Aren’t you going to say thank you?” Thomas teased. He pulled a valise from under the bed and started to shove Jimmy’s possessions into it. “Come on, help me pack then.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Thomas – will you just stop a minute?” He gripped Thomas by the wrist and the under-butler paused, a look of self-satisfaction on his finely-featured face.

“Let’s just say I’ve saved you _again_ ,” he smirked.

“But what did you have to do?” Jimmy gestured, “Who did you have to get in bed with, metaphorically? Or literally? It wasn’t O’Brien, was it?”

“Ha,” Thomas rolled his eyes, “as if. And it were nothing like _that_. I went to the one person who would understand what it felt like to lose the person you love and, lucky for us, it just happened to be the one person who won’t dangle it over me like the Sword of Damocles.” Jimmy shook his head, still none the wiser. “Lady Mary,” Thomas clarified.

“You – you told _Lady Mary_ about us?” Jimmy said, mortified.

“I didn’t exactly have many options,” Thomas shrugged. “It was a risk but it worked out.”

“She could have had you – us! – thrown in prison,” Jimmy threw his hands up in indignation.

“Wait – I saved your skin and you’re _mad_ at me?” Thomas resumed packing Jimmy’s things, but with considerably less care than before.

“I’m not mad,” Jimmy spat, “you’re the bloody mad one.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Thomas slammed the valise shut.

“Well it’s true,” Jimmy continued. “You’re always throwing yourself under the bus for me, without a thought for the consequences.”

“Because I _love_ you,” Thomas said, exasperated.

“Well I love you too,” Jimmy retorted, “you bloody infuriating _rube_.” They stood glaring at each other across the room for a long moment before Thomas broke into incredulous laughter and Jimmy’s anger dissipated at the sound of it.

“We’re a right pair,” Jimmy snorted, pulling Thomas into an embrace.

“I think,” Thomas replied, “we’re rather perfect for each other.”

 

* * *

 

Thomas and Jimmy received an array of confused looks when they arrived back at Downton with all of Jimmy’s worldly possessions in tow - Mr Carson hurried them both into his pantry before anyone had the chance to ask awkward questions.

“James,” Carson started, his heavy brow furrowed in incredulity and ill-disguised irritation. “I have been _instructed_ to show you mercy and reinstate you in your previous position here at Downton.”

Jimmy couldn’t help but smirk at Carson’s begrudging tone. “Really Mr Carson?” he said.

“Yes – for whatever reason,” Carson fixed Thomas with a pointed look, “Lady Mary has taken an interest in you, for which you should be wholly grateful. She has convinced me to give you another chance here at Downton, although I am of the opinion that you’ve had your fair share of chances. You will begin work in the morning and you will not discuss the manner of your dismissal or reinstatement with anyone else. Do you understand?”

“Yes Mr Carson,” Jimmy replied and Thomas nodded tersely.

“And be warned,” the butler continued, “I am watching both of you very closely.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of the staff were understandably curious as to what had transpired, but neither Jimmy nor Thomas could be moved to comment and Carson had strictly banned any gossip on the subject.

“I’m glad you’re back,” Ivy said innocently to Jimmy, only for Carson to chase her out of the servants’ hall breathing fire and dark threats. Whatever Lady Mary had said to O’Brien had worked like a charm – she sat in a corner, brooding and scowling, but thankfully remained tight-lipped. Jimmy made a mental note never to cross Lady Mary.

“I told you I’d look after you,” Thomas said later that night when they were both curled up in his tiny cot. “Oh ye of little faith.”

“I had faith in _you_ ,” Jimmy replied, “it were the other people involved that I were worried about.”

“You were scared,” Thomas stated, “weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jimmy nodded. “I were scared of going to prison – I’ve always been scared of that, and I think it’s a sensible thing to worry about. But I were more scared of losing you. I think about it a lot, what I’d do if – if we weren’t together. Or if something happened to you, like it did to Mr Crawley.”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Thomas soothed, tracing the lines of Jimmy’s body with his fingertips. “And we’ve practically been given Lady Mary’s seal of approval. What could possibly go wrong?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end - for now!


End file.
